Stop and Breathe
by Lavender Kiss
Summary: Merida's home is destroyed by Viking invaders that call themselves Berserkers. Taken from her land, she'll have to learn how to survive even as she feels like everything is crumbling down around her. Dark times are ahead. Will she be strong enough, brave enough, to see herself through it? Or will she be destroyed. (Huzzah, for a better summary).
1. Prologue

**Before: Mm, I've been hesitant to post this story. This has actually been my secret baby and, well, I guess I've just been weary about sending it off into the world. But stories are written to be shared so…here you go. I hope you enjoy (by the way, this is the short but not all the chapters will be short).  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own either How to Train your Dragon or Brave (although the various OCs that will be appearing later on are mine. But I don't mind sharing so...).**

**Prologue**

Waves crashed harshly against the coast. Worried villagers looked out at the moonless sky and listened to the howl of the wind as it whipped through Dunbroch. It was going to be a bad storm and many of the people living nearest to the coast were already getting ready to find refuge near the castle grounds since it was the closest highest point they had.

It was no surprise that no one noticed the dark shapeless forms cutting through the waves heading right towards them. The vessels fought against Thor's wrath, their eyes gleaming as they took in the sight of the castle in the distance. They had been out at sea for days, pillaging and plundering small villages and tribes, all in order to assuage Dagur's frustration and anger at being lied to by, not only Hiccup, but all of Berk. His men were scared to approach him. Only two days ago, he'd maimed one of his strongest Viking simply because the man had advised him to seek refuge since it looked like a storm was coming.

The Viking had gotten his kneecap broken for his troubles and had immediately been taken away to be tended to. Everyone knew though that with an injury like that, he would barely be able to walk let alone fight amongst the rest of the Berserkers.

No one had questioned him after that for fear of getting their own kneecaps broken.

Dagur grinned. "Soon we're going to have some fun. The bloody kind."

Inside the castle, not even the whistling wind could be heard and everyone slept soundly (except for the triplets who were in their room…decorating).

King Fergus and Queen Elinor lay curled up in each others arms, safe and content. A few rooms over, Merida lightly hummed as she dreamed about going on a hunting trip with her father and then getting a cooking lesson from her mother.

No one saw them come. And no one heard them until the screams sliced through the silence of the night.

**Note: Okay, so this chapter is testing waters. Think of it as a teaser. If people are interested, I'll post the next chapter. Unlike my other unfinished story (sorry people who are waiting on Stray – I haven't forgotten about it), I actually have this one planned out and I know where I want to take it. It's all a matter of writing it. Mm, you can think of this as taking place after Brave (although because I'll be leaning more on the 'realism' of How to Train your Dragon, there will be no mention of magic. Sorry). In fact, I will never be mentioning the fact that Elinor turned into a bear. The whole thing will be referred to as the incident. Maybe later on in the story I'll make a reference to what happened between Merida and Elinor (a version that is devoid of the magical elements) but don't count on it. As of now, you'll just have to make due with imagination.**

**This story has the potential to get very dark. But there will never be anything too explicit. I'm not sure if it's safe to label it T because I think it's also borderline M (so I guess I'll go M just to be safe). Mostly for the themes and a couple of curse words here and there.**

**Also, don't expect Mericcup. In fact, don't hope for Hiccup to come in anytime soon. This story will deal heavily with Dagur and Merida. There will be different point of views spread throughout, some OCs, some not. But don't worry people, most of them serve as outside perspectives as to what's going on between the two or as tools to reveal necessary or important background information (reading A Song of Fire and Ice now so I'm heavily influenced by that).**

**Oh yes, you can consider this to take place after 'The Night and the Fury' from season two of Dragons: Defenders of Berk. **

**I enjoy feedback. Tell me if you like; tell me if you don't (but please be courteous and tell me **_**why**_** you didn't like). Constructive criticism is always a plus with me.**


	2. Part 1: Chapter 1

**Note: Felt it was in poor taste to leave you with a little chapter that technically isn't really a real chapter. So here's the _real_ chapter. Tell me what you think. There is no update schedule yet. **

**Merida**

A banging sound woke her up and she jerked awake to see her mother barge in with a look of panic on her face. Her mother usually never lost her composure. And she most certainly didn't go around the castle wearing only her sleeping garments. Something was wrong.

"Put some clothes on," Elinor said already hauling out a dress and a cloak. Merida quickly scrambled out of bed.

"What's goin' on?" she asked as she took the offered clothing and began removing her own night gown.

"The village is being attacked. It's only a matter of time before the invaders make their way ta the castle. You and your brothers need to run away into the woods and hide. Go wait for me at the stone circles."

Merida paused, eyes wide, and twirled towards her mother. "What? Run? But I can help. I can defend the castle from -,"

"No, Merida," she said, her voice cold as she hurriedly helped her dress, forcing Merida to stand still. "I need you ta do as I say and not ta fight me on this."

"But mother!"

"No buts," she snapped and Merida bit her tongue with frustration. Seeing this, Elinor sighed and rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. "I need you to protect your brothers. Please. Don't do anything rash."

Protect her brothers. Of course. How selfish of her not to think of her brothers. Her shoulders sagged and her face became grave. "Ye're right mum." She reached and took her mother's hand in hers, only then realizing how shaken the queen was. Softly, she said, "Donnae worry. I'll watch over them."

Elinor gave her a smile of relief and patted her hand. "Thank you dear. Now finish up." She turned back to the door, watching as a terrified maid ran past. She bit her lip as she said, "The triplets are already waiting for you by the stables with Maudie. I asked Ivor to accompany you as an extra hand. He should have already prepared the horses." She turned back to her daughter and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. "I need to go and check on your father. He's organizing the men."

"What about ye?" Merida asked as she adjusted the cloak over her shoulders. "Aren't ye coming with us?" Elinor pulled the hood over her daughter's head, hiding the mess of extremely recognizable red curls.

"I need to stay and calm the women and children. There are already refugees inside the castle walls and more are on their way. My presence will give hope to the people and prevent them from panicking."

Merida nodded. "Right," but inside her stomach churned with tension and worry. She didn't want her mother near any of the fighting. What if the invaders somehow managed to get past the soldiers and make their way inside the castle? Her mother would be helpless as would all the women and children. They had no idea who these invaders were and what their plans were. It was at that precise moment that it dawned on her.

They were being _invaded_.

"Come now," Elinor said urging her daughter out the door but Merida shook out of her hold to go back and retrieve her bow and sword. She placed the bow and arrows over her shoulders and carried the sword in her firm grip. If anyone tried to attack her she would be ready. The Queen said nothing and took her hand in hers as they walked with quick strides towards the stables.

Everyone they passed was in a rush to get somewhere. Some of the maids were openly crying as they prepared a medical area for the inevitable injured. Others were bustling about getting extra blankets and food for the scared and wet villagers that were filtering into the warmth of the grand hall. Merida couldn't help but stare at the sight of mothers and children bleeding, crying, and shivering.

"Lady Queen," they cried as they saw her descending down the stairs.

"What's happening?"

"Is it the Angles?"

"Please! Someone help. My baby's so cold."

Elinor paused at the bottom of the stairs. Her white gown hung off her body like silk water and everyone stared at her with wonder.

"Merida. Go," she said softly. "Tell the boys that I love them and that I'll see them soon." Before Merida could respond, her mother moved away from her and began addressing the room. Her voice rang loud and true and Merida gazed at her mother, graceful and queenly even now, and wanted nothing more than to hug her. But she held back and instead committed her image into memory before silently making her way to the stables.

Outside it was even more chaotic. Men were yelling out orders to assemble on top of the castle walls. The gates were closed but not barred incase the warriors outside needed to make a hasty retreat. She new her father was out there trying to push the invaders back to where they came from.

She ran to the stables where it was much calmer. She spotted Ivor immediately but as she drew nearer she realized there was something missing.

Or rather, four someones.

"Where are the Triplets and Maudie?" she demanded.

Ivor winced and scratched his bright read beard. Merida wasn't very familiar with Ivor. He was a new warrior, recently promoted from castle guard. He was young, perhaps in his mid twenties, short and compact. He didn't look very intimidating but he did look capable. Although now she was having her doubts.

"Princess Merida." He had a twang of an Irish accent. He paused as if collecting his thoughts. She crossed her arms and waited. He coughed nervously. "The young princes ran off towards the wall when they heard about the battle. Maud ran after them but that was five minutes ago and they haven't come back."

The blood rushed from her head. The walls were the least safe place to be. They could get shot by the enemy or they could fall if they weren't careful. "And you didnae try to help?" she accused as she turned and started running for the gates. Ivor jogged up behind her looking guilty.

"I couldn't. The wee de – uh, princes, kicked me in the gonads." He looked pained simply recalling it. "I'm afraid I was out of commission for a while."

They stopped as they tried to take in their surroundings. Merida didn't know what to say to his confession. So she ignored him in favor of looking up for a familiar batch of red hair. She squinted and aimed her eyes along the length of the wall. There! She could see them dangling their heads over the edge of the west wall, facing the ocean. Maudie was behind them looking terrified.

"Stay here," she told Ivor.

He nodded and pulled out his sword.

Merida ran to the nearest stairs and took two at a time as she hurried to her brothers who were so very close to the edge.

"Boys!" she hissed.

They snapped their heads towards her and smiled. They pointed at something in the distance and Merida finally took in the sight that she hadn't paid attention to, too focused on the boys. Dunbroch. On fire. Despite the rain, the village was burning bright.

"Lord," she breathed as she strode forward, hand over her mouth. How was it possible that Dunbroch could be reduced to this in only an hour? She shivered as, over the sound of the rain, wind, and thunder, she heard the sounds of screams and swords clashing. This…

No, she couldn't freeze up. Clicking her mouth shut, she turned towards her brothers and marched over to them. They wavered at the sight of her face and were easily snatched up in Merida's arms.

"Maudie!" she yelled, snapping the terrified maid back into her senses long enough that she moved to follow her as she descended back down. All the while mumbling, "This is terrible. Terrible. What are we going to do?"

Ivor was waiting for them at the bottom with a very grim face. He immediately reached and grabbed two of the princes. "We have to leave. Now. I just heard one of the sentries yell out a warning. They're at the gates. Some of them must have gone around King Fergus's army."

"What do we do?" Maudie cried, her lips quivering. She wringed her hands. "We can't get out anymore. We're trapped." She hugged Hamish to her bosom like if he was a rag toy.

Merida pursed her lips and then remembered the well. She smiled despite herself. "I know another way out. Come on. Follow me."

"I'll get the horses," Ivor said, moving to go fetch them but Merida's hand on his arm stopped him.

"We cannae take the horses. They won't fit." She swallowed, realizing that she was not only leaving her mum and dad behind, but Angus too. Her most beloved friend. She forced herself to say the next words without quivering. "This way."

Surprisingly the triplets were quiet and she spared them a quick glance. They looked pale and they clung to their respective carriers with white knuckles. They'd finally realized that this wasn't a game.

The area around the well was also abandoned. With the sound of the gates being pounded down, Merida guessed most were either around the entrance to defend incase the door was broken down, or on the wall slowing down the invaders with arrows, or inside the castle seeking shelter. Merida leaned her sword against the stone as she grabbed the rope and hauled up the bucket.

"Maudie," Merida called. The maid stepped forward with Hamish in her arms. "Give Hamish to Ivor. Good. Now grab a hold of the rope. Tight though. I'm goin' ta let you doon slowly. Donnae be scared. Ye're goin' ta get wet but the bank is only a couple of feet away and it isnae very deep."

Maudie looked unsure but upon hearing the thundering crash against the door, she sucked her breath and did as she was told. Merida grunted as she held on to the rope. The added weight strained her muscles but it was nothing she couldn't handle. Slowly she started to take Maudie down inch by inch. It took a good ten minutes.

"Are ye alright?" she called down into the well after Maudie touched the water.

"Yes," she echoed back.

"Good. I'm goin' ta drop doon the triplets now. Could ye wait by the water and make sure they donnae get wet?"

The triplet's descent went by faster because they could actually fit in the bucket.

"Your turn, princess," Ivor said as he took hold of the rope. Merida nodded, not bothering to debate it. She picked up her sword and wrapped herself around the rope. Once she was secure she gave Ivor a small nod, telling him to start lowering her. The descent was slow and her heart thundered in her chest as the sounds from outside faded away only to be replaced by the immensely hallow sound of the underground tunnel. Her feet touched the water and she let go of the rope.

She cupped her hand over her mouth. "Alright Ivor. Yer turn." She waited to see his feet dangling from the edge before she sloshed around and wadded over to the bank. She could see Maudie shivering, surrounded by the triplets who were petting her hair (which had come out of its bun sometime around chasing the boys and having to be lowered down a well). Hubert quickly rushed over when Merida crawled onto the small bank. He petted her hair and she smiled gently at him.

There was a loud curse and a splash as Ivor fell the last couple of feet into the water. His head snapped up, water dripping from his short red hair as he tried to get back on his feet. Unfortunately for him, he slipped and went crashing back down.

Merida couldn't help it. She started to giggle but covered her mouth to try to stifle it. Her brothers weren't so discreet. Harris immediately busted out into a fit of giggles, Hamish joining in soon after. Of the three only Hubert didn't laugh; too tired and clinging to Merida for warmth.

Ivor scowled at them but then chuckled at himself as he crawled to the dry bank. "Heheh, I guess it was rather funny." He plopped down a few feet away from Merida and Hubert, taking his boots off and ridding them of stones.

They sat in silence for a while, recovering, until Merida decided they couldn't stay there much longer. They needed to move. By the time she pulled herself up to her feet, Hubert was fast asleep in her arms and Harris was dozing off next to Maudie. Only Hamish looked alert.

"Time ta go," she whispered and both Maudie and Ivor nodded grimly. Ivor picked up Harris and Merida shook her head at his offer of carrying Hubert too.

"It's alright. I have him."

Hamish walked silently beside Maudie holding onto her dress. It was dark and Merida wished she'd had enough foresight to bring a torch to light their way. Maudie was mumbling a prayer, hands clasped together under her chin.

Ivor quickened his pace so he was walking next to her. "So how long is this?" he whispered (or tried to but Merida had a feeling that he didn't really know how to whisper).

"We're close. Keep yer eyes peeled."

Sure enough, they stumbled out into the fresh air not soon after. Ivor whistled at the sight of the bridge. "Wow, I didn't even know this secret passage way was here. How did you find it?"

"Me mum told meh about it," Merida said and refused to say anything else about it.

"Oh, are you tired young prince?" Maudie whispered as she bent down to pick up Hamish. Merida smiled before turning her attention back to the matter at hand. Hubert shifted in her hold as she jostled him by accident trying to get across the rocks. Merida was thinking on what their next course of action was. They didn't have horses so they would have to walk to the stone circle. It was a long ways off.

Not like we can go back, she thought as she looked back. The bridge was covering her view of the castle but she could clearly hear the war raging on. She hoped her parents were safe.

"Wish I'd brought my water proof boots," Ivor muttered as he struggled behind Merida. They were crossing over to the other side where the forest lay when they heard voices. Immediately Ivor reached out and pushed Merida down. Because of the sudden movement, Maudie startled and slid a bit, causing a couple of rocks to shift and roll back into the water creating a loud splash.

"You hear that?" someone said. It took a second for Merida to realize that they weren't speaking Gaelic but Norse.

Vikings…

Apparently Ivor understood enough to realize who the invaders were too. They traded panicked looks. They needed to move fast or else they'd be found. Hating what she was about to do, she woke Hubert and Harris up.

"Shh," she said as they were set on their little feet. She pushed them towards Maudie who was still holding an extremely alarmed Hamish.

"Maudie," Merida whispered. "I need ye to take the young princes and hide. We'll distract the Northmen. When ye see a chance, run into the woods and donnae look back. I know ye know the way to the circle but donnae go just yet. Wait until it's quiet. Just hide deep enough in the forest that they wonnae see ye but still near enough that ye wonnae get lost. Understood?"

Maudie looked lost. "B-b-but,"

"Nae, listen, Maudie." Merida took a hold of her face. "I need ye to promise me ye'll look after the princes. Alright?"

Maudie nodded even though she looked like she was about to faint. "I promise. Nothing bad will happen to the young princes." She swallowed and started guiding them away to a boulder not far off. "Come along."

The triplets looked at their sister with worry and hesitated. Hubert even tried to worm his way back but Merida shook her head. She offered them a smile of encouragement. "Be brave," she told them. "I'll be back."

"They're getting closer," Ivor whispered.

Merida shooed them along and watched them go with a twang in her heart before she shook herself out of it and pulled out her bow and arrow. She notched an arrow in place and steadied her breathing.

"I'll jump in," Ivor volunteered. They both new they needed to divert attention away from Maudie and the triplets. Merida nodded.

Grinning wildly, Ivor braced himself before charging up the incline with a semi-loud battle cry. It caught the Vikings by surprise and they faltered as he slashed at them. They quickly recovered however and pulled out their spears and axes. Merida crept up slower and let loose an arrow when she saw the perfect opening. It hit the Viking in the chest and he fell down like prey.

"There's another one," the third Viking cried and Merida gritted her teeth as she pulled out her sword.

There were five Vikings against two (not counting the two that Ivor and Merida had taken down). They were all very large wearing strangely horned helmets. This was the first time Merida had ever seen a Viking and she couldn't help but shiver in fear at the sight of them. Before she'd only heard stories from her father, which she'd taken more as fantasy rather than historical but now…here they were, staring her in the face as they jabbed and swiped at each other.

From the corner of her eyes, Merida saw Maudie and the triplets making a run for the woods. She couldn't help but hold her breath and exhale when she saw that they had made it safely. Unfortunately for her, this distraction cost her. One of the Viking men got a lucky shot and sliced open her waist. The pain was instantaneous. She cried and fell onto the ground, sword useless by her side.

"Princess Merida!" Ivor cried. He sliced through one of the Viking's hands as he tried to get over to her. He was forced to freeze when he saw that the Viking that had taken her down grabbed her by her hair and yanked her up.

Merida hissed in pain and would have collapsed back onto the floor if it weren't for the fact that the Viking was holding her up by the waist, supporting her despite how much pressure it was putting on her wound. The others immediately jumped on Ivor and held him down, face pressed up against the dirt.

The fight was over. They had lost.

Merida tried to swallow but her head was being pulled back in an awkward angle. She wondered what they would do to them now. She closed her eyes and tried to renew her struggled but she only succeeded in causing herself more pain.

"This one's a fighter," the one holding her said.

"We should kill her, like she killed Wart."

There was a stretch of silence where she felt the Viking holding her inspecting her face. "No, we should take her as prisoner. She looks important. Don't you think?"

"How should I know? Fine, we'll keep her. What about this one?" he said and kicked at Ivor who cursed back at him.

"Might as well keep him too. Let Dagur decide what to do with them. To the camp! You three look down there and see where in Hel they came from. Report back to the chief on the other side. Got it?"

Most grunted their understanding.

For once, Merida praised the fact that her mother was such a strict and thorough teacher. If it wasn't for her, Merida would never have learned Norse and she wouldn't understand a single word they were saying. As of now it was her trump card. She locked eyes with Ivor and gave him a silent message.

_Donnae struggle. Donnae give them a reason ta kill ye._

He understood because he allowed himself to be hauled to his feet and, despite cursing them all, he didn't fight or try to run away. Good. She needed Ivor if they were going to escape in the future.

"Move it," the Viking said, shoving her along. She swallowed back her cries of pain as she was forced to walk. Her wound bled profusely and she wondered if she was going to die before she could even try to escape.

The walk was a blur. By the time the Vikings took her to their camp, she was running a fever and she was extremely pale. Ivor wasn't even trying to hide his worry because he kept trying to talk to her to keep her awake.

After, everything appeared in quick flashes, blurry and littered with dark spots: falling into a heap on the grass, being carried to a room that smelled of rotting flesh and death, a vile tasting concoction was forced down her throat, hands removing her dress from her and pain when they pressed against her injury. She couldn't see Ivor but she saw many horned heads. The last thing she remembers before succumbing completely to the darkness was the sight of a large boy with green eyes. He was leering over her and she couldn't help but feel that her nightmare was only just beginning.


	3. Part 1: Chapter 2

**Dagur**

When one of his men had come running telling him that they'd captured two prisoners, Dagur had been rightly annoyed. Hadn't he told them to kill on sight and to take _no_ prisoners? What part of that hadn't they understood? Lucky for the Viking, he got to keep his head because he also came baring better news.

A secret entrance into the castle. Unintentionally given away by the prisoners. Well now of course he had to go back and thank them in person, you know, before he slaughtered them. He had no use for prisoners, especially ones from these savage lands. They were all weak and puny. Pathetic.

Like Hiccup.

"I want to enjoy my work from the boats," he'd said after they'd infiltrated the castle and stood in its empty halls. And no one argued with him. Good. They were starting to learn.

The way back gave him a gleeful high. He saw all the destruction he and his men had wrought and he felt himself get excited all over again. He laughed and chased down any stragglers that hadn't managed to escape fast enough. The sky had cleared up a bit and the sun was starting to shine through the clouds. It bathed the charred landscape in an eerily yellow glow.

"Light to witness my artistry," he commented and cackled. His men laughed with him, some more hesitantly than others.

Soon he could hear the loud jeer of his men and the camp came into view. Up ahead, his ship waited for him, large and fierce with the face of a dragon carved into its bow. Men starting calling out his arrival and everyone stood in attention, watching him as he approached.

"Alright then," he said looking around at the festive camp. Most were going through their bounty while others were feasting on the villager's food or, in the case of a few, feasting on the virgin flesh of maidens. He could hear their bleating and it only made him laugh. But back to business. "Bring me the prisoners. I want to give them a present," he added.

"Dagur, sir," one Viking started, his voice weary but steady. Dagur sneered at his father's former second hand. What was his name? Dogbreath? No, Dogbert the Bruiser. The large man grumbled, "One of them is injured."

"So? Why would I care if he's injured? Bring him to me."

"Actually it's a -,"

Dagur felt his blood pressure spike. "Are you questioning me?"

Dogbert straightened up, face going blank. Dagur could almost imagine the pulsing rage building up inside. This man had been loyal to his father and it was no secret that he held no love for Dagur. "No. I'll bring the prisoners to you immediately." Dagur watched him hurry inside one of the tents. He was in too much of a good mood to summon anger or annoyance at the insolence though. The smart thing would be to get rid of former second in command but Dagur needed him (as much as he hated to admit it). The other men respected him too much and despite what people would think, he wasn't stupid enough to ostracize more of his men by having Dogbert killed. Instead he jerked his head towards one of his slaves who immediately scrambled into attention.

"Y-yes?"

"Get me some mead. I wish to enjoy the sights."

It was as he was taking his bloodied armor off that the prisoners were dragged towards him. He turned his attention to them, ready to gloat, when he paused at the sight of the injured prisoner.

A girl.

His eye twitched as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing. On the one hand, there was nothing special about here except maybe her hair. Red. Like blood. Like fire. On the other hand, she was like nothing he'd ever seen before. Not thin but definitely not thick like Viking women. Well fed. Obviously someone had taken good care of her. She wasn't a beauty but…comely. But there was something…familiar about her. He stepped closer, completely ignoring the angry noises coming from the male prisoner. When he jerked her face up by the chin to get a better look, she tiredly opened her eyes. She had feverish blues that looked at him with a defiant fire. Even in her weakened state she was fighting him. Impressive.

But most impressive of all was the fact that he remembered where he'd seen her face before. The girl on the tapestry. The royal family tapestry.

"Well, well," he said as he let her go. She was too weak to hold her head up and it fell back to her collarbone, her long hair falling over her face. "I wasn't expecting this. Who captured her?" he barked as he looked at all the Vikings gathered.

A tall squat man made his way to the front. "Uh, it was me."

"Name?" he asked in a bored voice.

"Grimm, sir."

"Alright Grimm. For your gift I'll allow you to keep the other prisoner as your slave. Congratulations."

The man opened and closed his mouth, not sure what to say. A shove from one of the men brought him back to reality and he quickly stuttered a thank you. There was an awkward silence.

"Well? Take him away. He's starting to annoy me." Dagur gave the savage a smirk as their eyes clashed. It only lasted for an instant but Dagur had no doubt in his mind that, if given the chance, the savage would kill him. The tense moment was broken when the prisoner was hauled to his feet and forcibly dragged away, all the while cursing and looking back at the girl. Hum, he's probably her guard or something. Dagur's eyes went back to the girl and he reached to touch her curls. Soft. She jerked at his touch, making him chuckle. Feisty. "Take her to my tent. She'll be tended there. Where's Milkweed?"

"Here sir," the only female Viking amongst their company said.

Dagur nodded. "You will tend to my flame-haired prize. Make her comfortable and make sure she doesn't die. Because if she does," he fingered his axe, "you can be sure that you'll follow soon after."

Her blue eyes widened but she nodded stiffly before walking over and picking up the girl and carrying her to the larger tent in the middle of the camp. Now that that was taken care of, Dagur could relax and enjoy the view of the smoke curling up and out of the castle walls. Even from this distance, he could see it was only rubble. He would have liked to show the princess. He was sure she would feel guilty about it.

Dogbert the Bruiser came up to him, his face hard and indifferent. "Dagur, sir. When are we to set sail?"

Ah yes. "Tonight. I don't want to deal with any surviving savages. Especially the big brutish ones. More effort than they're worth. We already got what we came for. Get everything on board. Make sure none of the men try to smuggle in a whore."

"As you say," Dogbert said and proceeded to immediately shout orders.

Dagur watched for a couple minutes but soon grew bored. His mind immediately went to the princess and he wondered how she was fairing. He yawned. Well, he was tired. Might as well grab a couple hours of shut eye before departure since he wasn't going to get any sleep during the voyage.

Inside his tent it was dim and he could smell blood in the air. On the ground lay the girl, naked as the day she was born. Milkweed was binding the wound which ran just above her navel and stopped just by the curve of her waist. It was an angry red and would most definitely scar. Dagur stared shamelessly, watching the rise and fall of the girl's breasts as she struggled to breathe. She was drenched in sweat and her face was scrunched up in pain.

"Leave after you're done bandaging her up," he commanded, his voice slicing through the silence. Milkweed nodded and finished up, covering the girl with a blanket before ducking out of the tent.

Sure that she was gone, Dagur walked over and knelt down above the girl. Pursing his lips, he poked her cheek. Getting no reaction, he ran his finger along her face, dipping down along her neck and lingering around her collarbone. Delicate. Like a bird. If he wrapped his hand around her neck, he could snap her so easily. He grabbed her lightly around the throat, his breath picking up as he noticed the contrast of her swan-like neck in-between his large hands. But he let go and slowly moved further down.

He'd lain with women before. Some from his tribe, the ones that threw themselves at him, hoping that he'd be interested enough to make them his wife. Some he'd taken by force. Slaves, women from the villages they raided. It was a game. One that felt even better when he was high on bloodlust. It added a little something to the end of the day.

The adrenaline of the fight was fading but he knew of a way to bring it back for a moment.

He pulled the blanket back and touched her soft mounds. She was young. Younger than him but not by much. She was really soft, but not weak. He could detect some muscle on her. That was curious. Wasn't she a princess? From what he understood, these savage land women were forbidden to do anything except look pretty. Stupid. If they'd allowed for their women to fight alongside them, perhaps they all wouldn't have died. Oh well, all the better for him. He grinned. In every way. His exploration though, ended at her belly where his fingertips skimmed across the bandages.

Right. She was hurt.

Suddenly a spark of anger surged up and he wondered which one of his men had damaged her. Now he'd have to wait a bit before he could have some fun. Ugh, there was nothing he could do about it now except nap. It was better if he saved up his energy anyway. He ripped himself away from her and threw himself on his makeshift bed.

He grumbled and rolled over to his side. A moment passed before he rolled to the other. His problem wasn't going away. It was only getting bigger.

Who was he kidding? Some pleasure before sleeping always relaxed him. The girl's soft pained moans as she slept just a couple feet away from him only added fuel to the imagination.

**A/N: Um, yeah. Not sure if I should post a warning before every chapter when there are some 'unhappy scenes' ahead. What do you think? Hope Dagur is in character. Like always, reviews are appreciated.  
**


	4. Part 1: Chapter 3

**Butch**

Godsdamn it all: the weather, Dagur, for going off course and taking the longest way possible back to Berserker Island. And _enjoying_ it.

His leg was killing him but he refused to complain about it even though he knew Milkweed would bend over backwards to make him comfortable. He was already considered worthless he didn't need weak to be added to his list of deficiencies. His mind conjured up images of when he was one of the most feared fighters amongst the Berserkers; the undefeated champion of the Winter Games. Now look at him, left to rot in the corner of the boat, his leg broken and useless. He wasn't a Viking anymore and he wasn't even considered a whole man anymore either. He was nothing.

And there was only one person to blame.

The hatred he felt for Dagur the Deranged ran deep and he dreamed of the day he could do to the lunatic as the lunatic had done to him. But slower, and preferably to both legs.

He sighed. Passive aggressive. That's what he'd been led to become. There was a small groan next to him and he turned to look at the girl that had been captured from the green lands. She was a small thing and pale. They'd been out at sea for weeks and for the most part, she spent her time glaring at everyone or sleeping. They'd already made three stops on the islands littering the way back to their home. They had just left behind the most recent, stocking up on freshwater and food. From here on forward, there would only be two more stops: Visithug territory and the Peaceable Country (since Berk and the Meathead lands were forbidden to them and Dagur hated Alvin and his outcasts).

_At least he isn't stupid in that front_, Butch thought. Although he won't deny that thinking of Dagur being eaten by a dragon brought him a never ending amount of amusement.

He wondered what Dagur wanted with the girl. She looked too delicate to survive the harsh conditions demanded on Berserker Island. He gave her a year at most. The only thing positive about her presence was that in an attempt to protect her from the elements, Dagur had ordered a tent to be erected around her. Due to the limited space, Butch had been allowed to rest in the tent too (watched carefully by Milkweed of course because Odin forbid that he try to take advantage of an unconscious girl).

Gods damn Dagur to the icy pits of Helheim.

The flap to the tent opened, a ray of light hitting him square in the face, before it disappeared and there stood Milkweed, looking disgruntled but spared him a smile before she moved over look at the girl. To Butch's surprise, the girl blinked awake and narrowed her eyes at Milkweed. She said something in her strange language and tried to scoot away but Milkweed would have none of that.

"Stay still," she commanded and reached to hold her down. The girl grunted but settled back down. Knowing what was coming next Butch settled himself back down on the floor and closed his eyes. Moments later, Milkweed joined him

"That girl," she complained but not with malice. Butch suspected she pitied her too much to be angry with the girl's stubbornness. "Everyday it's the same. She's going to rip her stitches out if she keeps it up."

"Maybe that's what she wants." He spared her a quick glance but she was buried under her blankets. He could only see her mess of red curls. He lowered his voice, despite knowing she couldn't understand him. "Because you know what will happen when she gets better."

Milkweed nodded gravely. "Dagur has been prowling the tent." She made a tusk sound. "There's nothing we can do though. Whatever happens happens. She'll just have to learn to adapt to us. Especially to Dagur." She folded her arms over her ample bosom, thoughtful and disturbed. Butch couldn't help but smile at her, all teeth. She noticed where his eyes were falling and immediately reached out to punch him in the arm. He just laughed it off and she followed after.

He sighed. "Wish this nightmare of an adventure was over."

Milkweed looked sad. "Yes. Nothing good has come of it."

"And nothing good will come of it," Butch warned. He reached out and lightly caressed her cheek. She leaned into his touch only to jump back at the abrupt opening of the tent flap.

It was Dagur. He looked annoyed, like always. Nothing but blood and guts ever got him laughing or excited.

"How's my flame-haired vixen," he said, stepping in and looking over at the small lump. Butch looked too and saw she was pretending to sleep. Smart move on her part since he wouldn't put it past Dagur to want to play with her for a bit.

"Well, sir. Her wound is healing up nicely and she'll be able to walk in three more days or so."

"Right around the time when we land on the Visithug territories. Perfect," he said. Finally, he turned his attention to Butch and raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh yes. How's the leg?"

Butch wanted to yell and punch him in his smug face but only managed a half-smile. "It's better."

He peered at it, looking bored. "Well that's good. I'm off then. Milkweed, keep an eye on her. Or else."

They watched him disappear from sight and they exhaled in relief.

"I miss Oswald the Agreeable."

"Now that was a Viking I could respect and call a shield brother," Butch muttered. "Too bad he was murdered by his wife and children."

"Shh," Milkweed hissed. "Do not speak of such things."

"It's the truth."

"You don't know that."

"Everyone knows, except no one wants to speak about it. It's the secret that's really no secret." He punched the wood. "It was all a huge bloody scheme."

Milkweed still looked unconvinced. "I can believe the murder by Dagur and Pandemonium's hands, but not of Hekla."

Butch deflated. "Young Hekla. I don't know what to believe anymore. Who's to say she isn't what she seems? Everyone lies, especially if there's power to be won. She is her mother's daughter and her mother isn't named Pandemonium the Head-Cleaver for no reason."

"But Hekla is also her father's daughter. More so than her mother's. The spitting image of Oswald, although taller and with blue eyes rather than green. She also inherited his good-natured personality." She poked him roughly in the chest. "I've seen that child grow up and she's nothing like her mother or brother. She would make a good chief. So I suggest you stop speaking ill of her, Butch, or else I might have to knock some sense into you." She gave him 'the look' and Butch looked away, ashamed.

His eyes locked with the captivating blues of the red-head prisoner. Immediately she looked away and snuggled back into her blankets, back facing him; but in his mind he could still see her face. Her intelligent eyes. Sharp…and dangerous.

"Are you sure she can't understand us?" he finally asked.

Milkweed laughed. "No. She speaks only in her harsh tongue."

Butch wasn't convinced but he decided to let it go. It wasn't his business and he didn't particularly care. If she escaped, then good for her. The enemy of his enemy was an ally.

"What are you thinking?" Milkweed asked.

He wiped the smile from his face. "Nothing. Now how about you share some of that?" he said pointing at the plate of food she'd brought.

"Well, only because I like you," she teased. Butch smirked and reached down to take the morsel she was offering with his teeth. She pinched his cheek and took a giant bite from her dried beef.

Ah, a true Viking woman.

**A/N: Hello anonymous, thank you for the review, although when I said I was inspired by A song of fire and ice, I only really meant the changing perspectives and the darker tone of the book. Not necessarily the characters themselves. I hadn't thought about comparing them so the parallels you drew were surprising to me. As always, I would love it if you reviewed. Next chapter should be a Dagur chapter. **


	5. Part 1: Chapter 4

**Dagur**

"Visithug Territory up ahead!" Dogbert yelled and the Vikings cheered.

Dagur stood by the steering oar, arms crossed, as he looked at the mountain peaks on the horizon. He was looking forward to sleeping on a real bed. While the Berserkers didn't have the best relationship with the Visithug tribe, they didn't have the worst (that was reserved for the Hooligans). And also, Glum the Tall and his wife Ruthless had been hospital to him the last time he'd visited them and he expected the same treatment.

How wrong he was.

His armada docked near the port, to the open-eyed wonder of the villagers. Perhaps they feared an invasion? The thought lifted Dagur's spirits up and he smiled widely. Glum and Ruthless were waiting for him when he stepped off his ship.

He opened his arms wide, wanting to see their reactions, but made no move to hug them. "Glum! How glad I am to see you." He gave Ruthless a nod (the woman was built like a yak). She grunted back only to abruptly start yelling at the sight of a couple of kids trying to sneak onboard the ships.

"Dagur," Glum greeted. His eyes were chips of ice. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

The tone caught him off guard and Dagur had to quickly reorient himself. What in Hel…? Something had changed but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Instead Dagur laughed it off, refusing to show any weakness. "Just a pit-stop. I need to restock on supplies before heading back to my island. With my armada."

Ruthless didn't seem too happy. "Our treaty allows for trade, not to aide you in your raids. We have no interest in those kinds of things," she sniped.

Dagur just snorted at her. "Whatever. I'm not asking you to help me kill. I do that just fine on my own. I'll pay for your services. Obviously."

Glum gritted his teeth at the show of disrespect to his wife but said nothing.

Ruthless was unruffled and continued to speak to him as if he were a child. It was infuriating him. "We'll offer you sanctuary, but you must leave by the end of this week."

"Fiiine," Dagur said with a roll of his eyes but on the inside, he wanted nothing more than to slap her across the face. Well, if they were going to be this way, he might as well milk it for all that it was worth. He put a hand on his belly. "I'm starving. My armada is too. Shouldn't you prepare a feast for your honorable guests?"

He bit back a smirk at the look of disgust on Ruthless's face. "Of course."

He yawned and stretched. "And our rooms? I'd like to freshen up a bit." He gestured at his battle torn armor and dirt stained skin. "I'm covered in blood and sweat."

"I'll have someone run a bath for you," she answered wryly.

He watched her leave and couldn't help but call out, "You have my thanks." He turned his attention back to Glum. He waited.

"Do you need help?" he finally asked.

Dagur grinned. "Why no, but thank you for asking."

He nodded stiffly. "I'll have someone escort you to your room."

Dagur didn't bother to answer. He wanted to rage because he had a feeling he knew what had happened. Hiccup and his groupies had gotten here first and had somehow managed to win the Visithugs over to his side. Curse him! He wanted to launch his axe at someone. Instead he walked back to his ship and opened the flap to the tent. His princess was standing up, letting Milkweed dress her, Butch was in the corner. As soon as she saw him, she backed away only to be held in place by Milkweed. He looked up her up and down. Her dress from before had been mended, her hair brushed, and her skin was starting to get a healthier glow. All in all she looked like a princess.

"Pull her hood up," he said after a pause. He didn't want others looking upon her face before he could claim her as his own.

Milkweed did as she was told and then said, "Should I lead her out?"

Dagur shook his head and grabbed a hold of her delicate elbow. "No. I'll be taking her with me. Why don't you help your friend there," and nodded towards Butch who was struggling to his feet. It was sort of a funny sight. He chuckled. "Someone should make him a cane or something. Come along my flame-haired princess." He ignored her struggles and led her down the plank to greet a very annoyed Vicious.

Dagur of course broke out in a fit of laughter. "They sent you? That's hilarious. What did you do? Set something on fire? No, wait, let me guess. You went and got yourself drunk and insulted the gods."

"Shut up Dagur," Vicious growled and turned, stomping his way to the guest house.

Dagur wiped a tear and followed. How he hated him he thought with a smile. Vicious was the heir of Glum and Ruthless, although not their true born son since rumor was that Ruthless couldn't bare children. Dagur had always considered him inferior in every sense of the word. Ever since they were children and had been forced to associate with each other, both being heirs of their tribes, Dagur had wanted nothing better than to kill him. Whatever, Dagur had been planning on expanding on his territories sooner or later. With such a weak chief, the Visithugs would be easy pickings.

"You didn't answer my question," he said as they passed through the village and ascended a hill to get to the long house where the grand hall was as well as various spare rooms for guests.

"And it's none of your business," Vicious said as he opened the door and stepped inside. The place was brightly lit and smelled of spices but Dagur didn't care.

He narrowed his eyes. He would not let someone speak to him that way. He was about to coldly remind him about his armada on their door step when his princess winced and he looked to see that he was gripping her too tightly. He loosened his hold and turned back to address Vicious. He was looking at them with a confused face.

"Who's that?"

"My bride," Dagur answered without hesitation. He felt her stiffen but before he could question it, Vicious exploded in laughter.

Great, the commoner was mocking him. His hand went to the hilt of his dagger.

Vicious tried to control his laughter and said between breathes, "Wait, wait, your bride? Who'd be crazy enough to marry you?"

Ah, that Dagur could answer happily. "Oh, it's not by choice. She's my trophy bride."

Vicious froze in shock. "Your what?"

"My trophy. As in my property. Whatever opinion she has about me doesn't matter because she's mine."

Vicious's large grey eyes narrowed and he balled his fists. "That's monstrous Dagur. Slavery is outlawed here. As is bride snatching."

He just gave him an 'are you serious' look. "What do I care what your laws say. They're not my laws. I do whatever I want."

"It isn't right," he said in frustration. They got odd glances by the people bustling around the hall, preparing for the feast, but neither of them cared. They stared each other down.

Dagur was glad to get such a strong reaction and shoved him aside. "Well, you better get used to the idea. Now that you've been introduced, I really want to get into my room so I can have some alone time with my woman. Do you mind?"

He left the weakling behind and went straight for the closest room in the hall. He slammed and barred the door shut. Taking a deep breath, he turned and looked at his princess. She had made her way to the furthest corner of the room. Somehow, she'd managed to get a hold of one of the decorative swords without him noticing and was holding it out in front of her, looking like she knew how to use it. That only excited his blood and he grinned, taking out his own axe.

"Now, now," he said as he advanced towards her. "There's no need for this but if you insist." He took a swipe at her but she easily blocked with her own sword. He'd been right; she had muscle hidden away beneath her delicate looks. She said something in her language and had to jump back when she lunged.

"Oh-ho-ho-ha," he said as they danced around each other. This was better than he'd ever imagined. Against all odds, she was holding her own against him. But it was getting late and he hadn't been lying when he'd said he was starving. So with just a touch of disappointment, he used his full force and knocked her sword away. Being anything but helpless though, she tried to dive to retrieve it but it was too late. Dagur pulled her flush against his body and pinned her arms against her chest.

He waited for her to tire herself out. Despite being much better than before, she was still weak from her illness and her wound hadn't healed completely. It took ten minutes for her to slump against him, chest heaving.

Dagur felt extremely aroused. Without shame, he lowered his arm until it lingered around her waist. His princess tensed and then cried out in pain as he put pressure on her injury. He laughed again and took his hand away only to stumble back into bed, taking her with him and landing on their sides. He flipped her around and straddled her.

Her eyes were blown wide with terror and she was squirming around, trying to buck him off her but he had too firm of a hold. She was flushed and helpless. He thought she looked ravishing. Too bad he didn't have enough time.

So he ravished her mouth instead. They were soft and sweet…for the second that she let him kiss her. Then she bit his lip until it bled. He pulled back and slapped her across the face but he was smiling.

"You're a fighter." The slap had been hard enough to leave her dazed and she became malleable beneath his arms. "But nothing I can't handle." He eyed her dress and recalled the time he saw her naked. His fingers twitched in excitement. Slowly, his hand trailed down her leg and back up, the dress bunching up, revealing leather shoes and just a bit of pink skin. His mouth watered.

At just that moment, someone came knocking at his door.

"What?" he screamed in annoyance.

"Your bath sir," a woman called hesitantly.

Damn. He gave his princess a look (which she avoided) and then sighed in exasperation. "Alright, I'll be right there." Before getting off her, he indulged in petting her hair and running his hand along her neck. She didn't struggle, just remained perfectly still. It was only after he'd gotten off the bed completely that she moved. He watched her curl into herself, back facing him.

"I'll be back my flame-haired princess," he said. Then he picked up the sword and axe and opened the door to glare down at the woman who'd disturbed him. She'd been smart to move a couple of steps back from the door because Dagur would have 'accidentally' dropped the weapons on her.

"Get me Milkweed," he said. "I need her to guard this door."

"Of course. Do you want me to show you -,"

"I know where it is. Just go do what I said."

She nodded but he could tell he'd angered her. Whatever. He wasn't here to make friends. He shut the door behind him, catching one last glimpse of his princess before he made his way to the bathhouse. It was steamy and warm and he instantly felt his muscles relax. Leisurely, he pulled off his armor one by one, keeping a dagger of course, before striding naked to the tub and sinking in with a loud 'ah.' Yes, he'd missed this.

**Note: I realize the story is slow but this mostly has to do with the fact that it's more character driven, rather than plot driven. I promise that things will pick up, I just have to establish things first. Next chapter should be up sometime tomorrow or something. It's somewhat short and it will be in Merida's point of view. Drop me a note.**

**Anonymous: Thank you very much for your kind words and I'm really glad that you're enjoying the story. I took no offense to the comparison, I just felt I had to make it clear it wasn't really going to be like Asofai incase you were reading because of that. I don't want to false advertise.**


	6. Part 1: Chapter 5

**Merida**

Merida couldn't move. Her body especially her hands were shaking too much. She wanted to cry but the tears wouldn't come, she wanted to run but there wasn't a way out. At least he hadn't done what he'd been planning.

But he'd still done enough.

Her lips felt swollen and her cheek was numb. She was positive there was a bruise forming. But bruises would go away. What wouldn't go away was the feel of his hands touching her. Disgusting.

No. There wasn't time for this. Steadying her breathing, she forced herself to move. Sitting on the bed, her eyes quickly blinked the tears away so she could scan the room before one of the barbarians came in. The Viking leader (Dagur as she'd heard Milkweed and the other one – Butch – call him), had taken the swords with them. Wiping her nose, she stood and walked over to one of the chests. She rummaged around. Finding nothing, she quickly moved to the desks, cabinets. _God, please, let there be something I can use!_

There! A small needle. This would have to do. It was light in her hands but she felt much more at ease with _something _to defend herself with. Her head jerked at the sound of voices outside of her door and she scrambled over to the bed. She shoved needle behind the desk and then threw herself face down across the bed, her hair obscuring her face.

Just at that moment, the door to the room opened.

There was a sigh. "Poor girl."

Milkweed. Merida waited to see what the Viking woman would do but she didn't come close to her. Instead, she walked around the room, inspecting it. Merida slowly turned around, watching her. In the far corner, next to the door, she found a dagger and Merida cursed at her luck. If she'd found it first…

The Viking noticed her eyeing the weapon and offered her a smile. "I know how much you want this but trust me, it's for your own good." She put it away in her pouch.

Merida bit her tongue and instead glared at the woman. She wasn't in any mood to be around company. She just wanted to be left alone to her thoughts.

But Milkweed would have none of that. She started mumbling under her breath, light enough that Merida couldn't make out what she was saying but as she advanced towards her, she guessed it had something to do with the fresh pair of clothes she'd been hiding in the crook of her arm.

The feast.

She pursed her lips. When would this horrible day end?

Apparently not after she took a bath. Milkweed had to drag her out of the room and then had to force strip her when they were there. Merida wanted to scream but she didn't. She needed to remain calm. Her mother always said to think with a level head and not let fear or frustration take a hold of her mind. So she took deep breaths. When she felt Milkweed trying to scrub her she shoved her hands away and stepped away from her. She could at least clean herself.

The Viking woman understood and gave her some privacy. Merida looked at the wooden tub and slowly dipped her foot in. It was warm and it smelled good. Despite herself, she relaxed and gratefully sank in, dropping her head back and letting it get wet. Being out in sea hadn't done her, or anyone any favors. Besides the stops they had made in abandoned islands (where even then she'd only taken a dip in a small river or pond) she hadn't had a proper bath since home.

Home

She scrunched up her face and stared forlornly at the ceiling as she soaked in the tub. She wondered how her parents were doing. She'd heard from Milkweed and a few other Vikings that they had managed to take Dunbroch. Was her father alright? Her mother? Surely they had survived. Her father was the strongest person she new and her mother was invincible. Besides, her people would have protected them. They would have put up such a good fight. She wondered about the triplets and Maudie. She hoped they hadn't gotten lost. Oh, she'd forgotten…she'd forgotten to tell them that mother sent them her love…

Her eyes burned and she gently reached to rub them. She heard Milkweed shift and Merida immediately tried to distract from her small breakdown. She picked up one of the cloths and dipped it in the water. It came out soaping wet and she gently ran it across her arms and shoulders. Dirt and grime pealed away.

Phantom fingers skimmed across her body, his face as he smirked at her, and she began rubbing with more force. Dagur was disgusting and she hoped she never had to suffer his touch again.

Again and again, she would rub at her skin until she was pink and raw. The only reason she stopped was because the water turned cold. Milkweed immediately noticed and appeared beside the tub. With no effort, she lifted her out and patted her dry. Merida didn't even have time to protest before she was dressed and ready. She looked down at her outfit and swallowed hard. It was green and of Dunbroch design. They must have stolen it. Like everything else.

She was escorted back to the room. Each step became more painful the closer she got to the room and before she new it, she was standing in front of it. For a moment, she froze and seriously contemplated running but Milkweed's heavy hand reminded her that she had no place to go. _Be brave_, she told herself and opened the door. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the empty room.

"Lucky girl," she heard Milkweed comment and then she felt herself be pushed towards a chair. Not sure what to expect, she was completely caught off guard when a comb was shoved into her hands.

"I'm sure you can figure that one out, girl," the Viking woman commented.

Merida pursed her lips. This was one of the things she couldn't get used to. All Vikings seemed to assume she was stupid just because she, supposedly, couldn't speak their language. _Donnae blow yer cover_, she instructed herself as she started running the comb through her wet curls.

It was always easier to brush her hair when it was wet and the process soothed her. She took her time, wishing her mother was here. Usually she would complain if her mother tried helping her with her hair but now…that's all she wanted.

"Alright, time's up. I have to get you to the feast or else Dagur will be angry," Milkweed said as she took the brush away and hauled her to her feet.

She wanted to yell out, 'Stop treating meh like a doll!' but once again she held her tongue. Instead, she brushed Milkweed aside and headed for the door. She waited patiently.

Ha! Patiently. Her mother would be proud that she'd finally learned the art.

Milkweed just raised her eyebrow at her. "Hum, you have fierceness in you. I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. Come now, girl," she said taking her wrist and leading her down the hall.

The only thing that made this march bearable was the thought that she might see Ivor. Seeing a familiar face would sooth her heart. The thought of what might come after the feast though, she couldn't bare to think about.

**Anonymous: Thank you once again for your kind feedback. I very much hope you enjoy this chapter. Next one will be in Vicious's point of view.**


	7. Part 1: Chapter 6

**Vicious **

He'd known from the moment his father had told him that Dagur was on the island that the next couple of days were going to be a nightmare. The feast had been a disaster. And a very demanding test of self-control. It still blew his mind, the way he treated his men, especially the girl. Like if they were his playthings that he could do whatever he wanted with them.

It was only now that they were in the privacy of their home that he dared speak his mind.

"Dagur must go," Vicious said. It had taken a lot for him to not punch the smug bastard in the face over the dinner but he'd contained himself; for his parents and the repercussions that would loam over the entire village if he engaged the chief of the Berserkers into battle; he even considered the girl who obviously didn't need more stress in her life. She was being married to _Dagur_ after all. That was worse than death. Worse than being tortured to death.

Glum sighed. "It's not as easy as just kicking him out."

"He brought his armada," Ruthless said with a roll of her eyes. "As long as he has that, we don't want to risk an attack.

The answer did not satisfy Vicious. He crossed his arms and sat down, his armor clanking. "I say we set his armada on fire," he mumbled.

His mother's eyes darted towards him and pinned him with a cold glance. "Don't you dare bring the beast out."

Vicious' nostrils flared and he started arguing back. "She's not a beast. She saved my life. Plus, because of her we made peace with both the Meathead tribe and the Berkians."

"Son…"

"And destroying Dagur's armada would be easy. I'd just bring her out in the middle of the night and light everything on fire. None of them would be expecting it. Some of our men could start slitting throats here. Or even lock them up, whatever you think works best."

"If it were up to you, you'd set them on fire too," Ruthless said wryly.

Vicious shrugged, not denying that he wouldn't like to see them burn. Sweet, sweet revenge. He could still remember the fight from years ago that had started it all (although little things had been leading up to it). Dagur had almost taken his head. Luckily though, he'd missed enough to not kill him. Instead he'd almost left him crippled. And still the lunatic insisted that it was only a 'graze.' How was almost splitting his spine a 'graze?' Ever since that day when they were twelve, Vicious knew that there was something really wrong with the heir to the Berserker tribe. Something that couldn't be cured.

"He's a monster not a man. I would feel no guilt in killing him."

"Of course you wouldn't," Ruthless said. "I'm sure most of his men would even thank you."

"Or do the deed for you," Glum added. "As I see it, it's only a matter of time."

"Why haven't they done anything now? He treats them like expendable cattle. They outnumber him a hundred to one. What's stopping them?"

"Tradition," Glum said, walking over to the fire. He bent down and fed it more kindling.

"Fear," Ruthless added. "Respect for his father."

Glum ha-rumfed in agreement. "Oswald the Agreeable was a great man. He was severe but just and he cared for his people."

"Too bad a man like him married a terror like Pandemonium. That's where Dagur gets it from, you know," Ruthless said, her nose upturned as if she smelled something repugnant. She was clutching the chair handle hard enough to crack. "Prideful cow. Always thought she was better than everyone else because she could cleave the heads off of dragons with one single stroke." She snorted. "I could wield a sword before she could even walk."

Vicious gave her a look before he continued on with his argument. "We'd even be doing the rest of the tribes a favor. Odin knows that Dagur is just bidding his time before he attacks the Berkians. That's why Stoick and his son wanted to form an alliance. They see the battle coming a mile away."

"Be that as it may," Glum said with a hint of weariness in his voice. "We are a neutral party until Dagur does something outwardly antagonistic."

"His mere presence is antagonistic," Vicious muttered, crossing his arms, but at their warning looks, he threw his hands up in the hair. "Fine! I'll leave it alone and avoid the fucker until he leaves. Happy?"

"Not particularly," Ruthless said. "This isn't a picnic for us either." Her eyes flashed in anger as she remembered the day where she'd thought she'd lost her son. "Don't think for a moment we've forgotten all the harm he's done you."

"Sometimes I wonder," he said wryly. "Why else would you make me escort him to his room?"

This time Ruthless backed away, shaking her head with clear disapproval. "Oh no boy, don't pin that on me." She jerked her thumb her husband's way. "That was all his doing."

Glum shrugged, leveling his son with an unrepentant look. "Now, son. Just because Dagur is here, it doesn't mean we'll be lenient and let you get away with burning down a dozen of our own ships."

"It was an accident!" he exclaimed although even he couldn't sound convincing and he winced.

"Mmhum," he said and turned towards his wife who was slowly getting moodier. He wrapped an arm around her waist. "It's getting late. Why don't you go to your room and rest? Tomorrow will be just as demanding a day."

Vicious immediately stood up and made his way out of the room. The touches and looks hadn't gone unnoticed by him and he knew how to take a hint. Still, he couldn't stop from making a face at the thought of what they were going to do as soon as he was out of eyesight (didn't really matter if he was out of earshot. He'd learned that a long time ago).

His room smelled like wood and heather and he breathed it in slowly, noticing the small vase by his bed. A smile graced his lips (the first in days). His mother might like to appear the strong warrior in front of everyone, but when it was just her and the family, she was such a _sweetie_. It was kind of funny but nice – knowing that there was a part of her that she only felt comfortable enough showing in front of him and his dad.

Slowly, his fingers worked his armor off: shoulder plates, buckle, wrist spikes, and his prized helmet made of iron. He draped his heavy furred coat over the chair and collapsed on his bed.

Gods, he hated Dagur.

Rolling over, he rubbed his face up and down with his palms, as if trying to rub away an ugly memory. Unfortunately for him, all he could do was think back on the feast and how much he'd wanted to jump across the table, challenge Dagur in a duel, cut him up, and then feed him to Pyra. Then he would have freed the Berserker tribe so they could choose a more suitable chief. And then there was the girl. The _princess_.

Merida

"Merida," he said a loud. Pretty, now that he thought about it. But foreign on his tongue. His felt himself drift off, pensive and not all together peaceful.

_Vicious had been ignored for a full thirty minutes and he was just about ready to explode. The only thing keeping him in check was his mother's firm hand on his knee. His eye twitched but he resigned himself to his fate. Instead, of glaring holes into Dagur, he reached out and filled his plate with another chicken leg. He bit into it viciously._

_He wished Pyra was around. She knew how to have a blast. He chuckled darkly. At least Dagur wasn't having fun either. It looked like he was steadily getting pissed._

_He was brought out of his raging thoughts when he heard Dagur finally give in and yell, "Guard!" One of his men was shoved forward and Vicious watched the Viking gulp nervously._

"_Yes Dagur sir?"_

"_Where's my trophy?"_

_Ah, the girl. That's what had been pissing him off. _

_The man looked uncomfortable. "Umm -,"_

_Dagur narrow his eyes and before anyone could blink, he'd struck out, stabbing the man in the shoulder. Vicious immediately moved to stand, his hand on his knife, but his mother held him back. He bit back a growl of frustration and instead sat back down, feeling outrage for the Viking who was very obviously trying to hold back his cry of pain. _

"_Here she is!" someone else cried and everyone turned to look at the new arrivals. The Viking that had called was female and she was looking towards the other's bleeding shoulder as if she herself had been stabbed. But she wasn't what drew everyone's attention. It was the girl. Earlier he hadn't managed to get a good look at her. He'd only known she was young and fair with blue eyes. Now he could see that she was younger than him, with a magnificent head of red curls that fell midway to her back. She was wearing a dark blue dress that looked of a foreign design. _

_Suddenly, someone else cried out, "Merida!" Vicious turned to look only to see one of the Vikings hit the red-head and drag him out of the room. The girl had made a move to go to the man but the Viking female stopped her. It was then that Dagur got a good look at her face._

_The girl had a dark bruise forming on the left side of her cheek and her eyes were ablaze with a fire of such deep hatred that Vicious couldn't understand how Dagur was still standing. Immediately he knew he liked her. She had spirit._

_Dagur didn't look scared at all which Vicious thought was stupid. You should never underestimate an enemy. No, instead Dagur was smiling as if he found this whole thing funny. "Ah," he called. "My lovely Firehead! I'm glad to see you cleaned up. You were starting to smell. Milkweed! Bring her over here to sit next to me!" The room was quiet as they watched the Viking called Milkweed shove the girl forward. _

_The girl stumbled but recovered quickly and, holding her head high, walked forward with so much grace and dignity that Vicious immediately suspected that she wasn't just a commoner that Dagur had picked up. She took her seat next to Dagur leaning slightly away from him, not even sparing him a look. _

_Dagur didn't seem to care. He reached out and gently caressed a curly lock of hair from her face. This made her react violently and she slapped his hand away, a scowl on her lips. A dark look crossed over Dagur's face before it passed and he settled back down, grinning at the uneasy looks on his host's faces. "Isn't she something? I got her in one of my last raids. She's the daughter of some king or something from the savage lands to the west. I plan to make her my wife. Men!" he called turning to them, a dangerous look on his face. "As chief, don't I deserve a princess?" There were murmurs of agreement and he laughed: long and cruelly. _

_Vicious hated that laugh. There was a loud clank and he turned slightly to see his mother had slammed her drink down hard enough to crack the table._

"_So you kidnapped yourself a bride?" she asked. Her tone was anything but veiled and the disgust and outrage was palpable._

_Of course Dagur noticed and he narrowed his eyes. "Yeah? What of it grandma?"_

_This time, Vicious couldn't help but stand up and point an accusing finger at him. "You will show my mother respect. You're a guest here and she is the chief's wife."_

_Dagur's lip twitched before he quickly smiled and held his hands up in surrender. "Right. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me." _

"_You know perfectly well what came over you, you lying bastard!" Vicious spat, his composure breaking. Everyone at the table had stopped eating and was now watching them with growing alarm. Most looked like it was the end of the world. Vicious couldn't blame them: he had a short temper and Dagur was insane. That did not make for a good combination._

_Dagur's eyes narrowed but the smile wouldn't leave his face. It was starting to creep everyone out, including the girl as she stared at him with her lips pressed tight. _

"_That is enough," Glum said, his loud voice cutting the silence like a sword. He glared at each and everyone, gaze lingering on the two main culprits. "Dagur, you are to respect my wife or you will leave my lands." Dagur looked away but nodded stiffly. "Vicious." He straightened up into attention, knowing before he even looked at his father, that he was in trouble. "You are dismissed from this table. Go."_

_He didn't even try to fight the verdict. If anything he was grateful because he wasn't sure he could hold back hitting Dagur for another moment. He nodded stiffly and turned towards the door. Not before he saw Dagur's triumphant little smirk. He would have shouted some departing words if it weren't for the fact that he also saw the girl staring at him. Her eyes were wide and clear and intelligent._

_She looked, appreciative and she inclined her head towards him slightly._

She'd thanked him, Vicious was sure.

His room suddenly felt stuffy. He needed to go for a walk. Swinging his legs forward, he grabbed his fur coat and armored up. He picked up his sword. You never know if you're going to run into Dagur, he thought as he secured the sword around his waist. He decided he wanted to avoid the awkward situation downstairs and instead climbed out of his window. It was easy enough. He'd done it many times before.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, he took off running towards the woods. He slowed to a walk when he came near the long house. He was just passing by some Berserkers when he overhead some of them talking. He paused, catching wind of something interesting.

"…heard the yell. I think she broke his nose."

"Well by the sound of it, I think he broke hers back."

"Savage little girl, she is."

"I still can't get over the fact that she made Dagur sleep in another room."

"Perhaps this whole 'marrying and outsider' isn't such a bad thing. She'd make a good match. Much saner. The people will like her."

"Balance out all the hate, hum?"

"Possibly."

Vicious didn't realize he was grinning until he felt his cheeks ache. He _knew_ he'd like the girl. The voices grew dimmer as he snuck away quietly into the forest. The girl – Merida – had gotten in the punch he'd been denied. Good for her.

He side stepped a torn down tree and headed confidently down a worn down path of his own making. It was late evening when he finally made out the faint outline of the abandoned watchtower resting forlornly on top of the far cliff. He ran the last couple of yards and pit his fingers in his mouth to whistle.

It echoed in the air and he waited for a couple of seconds.

A roar answered back and a genuine smile broke across his face as he saw Pyra fly down from on top of the watchtower. She immediately ambled over, nuzzling her face against his hand.

"How are you doing, girl?" he asked, scratching her magenta colored snout.

His Monstrous Nightmare leaned in further.

"Yeah, I've missed burning stuff with you too. Want to go for a ride?"

Of course she did.

**Anonymous: You would think Merida would be more resourceful but this is literally her first time being alone. Ever since she was captured, someone has always been around her. Plus she just got smacked around and molested. Most people would probably be too shell shocked to even move. She probably could have gotten the knife, but it would be too big to hide. They would have found it on her anyway. At least with the needle, she can hide it and get some comfort from it. Thank you very much for your review and I hope you continue enjoying the story.**

**Nar: Hello first timer. I'm so happy you like the story. I hope you continue reading and enjoying (despite the fact that Hiccup will probably only be mentioned here and then). This is mainly a story about Merida and her having to grow up in a strange world that treats her like an object. I wanted to explore how to she would feel and how she would respond. I also wanted to explore Dagur's character because he's so crazy and his family and life is such a mystery. But this is just me rambling. I hope you liked this update.**

**irrelevantAssasin: Thank you so much. I think you'll be happy to know that I believe I'll be updating every Saturday and Wednesday. We'll see how it goes.**

**A/N: Well, so there you have it. I've officiously introduced Vicious who is actually a character that could potentially link Merida with Berk if I ever do decide to let Merida meet Hiccup. It's an option now at least. Next chapter should be a Milkweed chapter! Drop a review if you can. I love them. **


	8. Part 1: Chapter 7

**Milkweed**

Milkweed wasn't sure whether to feel proud or angry at the girl as she used a rag to wipe away at the blood on her lips.

"Stupid girl," she muttered.

Instead of reacting to the tone as she usually did, the princess just sat still, a content smile on her face even as she winced when she moved her arm.

"Careful you stubborn girl," she scolded, grabbing her elbow gently and settling her back down. "You sprained your wrist." And bruised some ribs. The scene she'd walked into only a couple minutes before still sent a shiver down her spine. Dagur looming over the beaten and bleeding princess. For a moment, she'd thought he'd killed her but then she heard her moan. She couldn't stop the sigh of relief that left her and she immediately hurried over to see how extensive the damage was. At least Dagur had had enough care to spare her wounded side. The cut was still relatively tender and if he'd kicked it, it would have split open again.

Dagur had ordered her to clean her up and set her to bed, and then he stomped off. Granted with an odd stumble in his step. It did not pass Milkweed's attention that the princess only smiled wider at the sight of him walking funny. Milkweed almost smiled herself since she could just imagine what had gone down.

'That's one brave child,' she thought as she set the rag down and helped the princess out of her dress and into a sleeping gown. It was slow work since any wrong movements brought her pain.

It was as she ran a hand through the princess's curls that Milkweed really saw how young the girl was. Round cheeked, still with some baby fat, short in comparison to other Vikings and not as muscular. If she wanted, she could lift her with one arm. The child, while not feather light, was light enough that it would be problematic in the winters. Milkweed frowned as she poked the child on the stomach.

The princess flinched and turned to give her a little glare.

But she ignored her and instead frowned at how skinny she'd become. Milkweed did not like that she'd lost weight. "You are already too small. You need to eat more."

She then hummed as her attention turned back to the nest that was the child's hair. "Now as for this…" She pursed her lips. "I say it would be better if we cut it, but I suspect you would resist. I'm almost positive Dagur wouldn't like it either."

The child was still under her hands as Milkweed ran her fingers through her hair, halting as she found a knot. Carefully, she began untangling the mess and reached behind her to crab the comb.

She smiled approvingly as the princess remained still and, gradually, relaxed.

They were sat in companionable silence, Milkweed brushing the knots out and soon, a soft melody flowed out of her. It was a lullaby her mother used to hum to her long ago when she was still alive. It had always set her mind at ease and made her feel warm.

The princess leaned against her and while she hummed and brushed, she pretended not to notice the quivering shoulders.

oOo

After the princess had passed out from taking medicated tonic (it was for her own good), Milkweed had snuck out to the dining hall where she spotted Butch sitting in a bench, a mug of ail in his hand. His eyes lighted up when he saw her heading towards him.

"What brings you here?" he asked.

She gave him a look. "I'm hungry. But that's not what you really want to ask, is it."

Butch smiled darkly. "You know me too well." He leaned back in a relaxed pose. "So I heard Dagur was kicked out of his room by his lady."

Milkweed's face remained indifferent.

He pressed on. "Heard also that he screamed like a girl…"

"The princess defended herself. He beat her up after."

That silenced him and he glared down into his drink. After a moment, he asked, "Did he damage her beyond repair?"

Like me, she heard the unspoken question. She shook her head and reached to take his drink and swallow some down, feeling it burn her throat. It hit her belly like fire. "No. He wouldn't do that. I think he likes the challenge so unless he gets bored, I don't think he'll be getting rid of her any time soon."

There was a pause. "At least she fended him off for a while longer."

The depressing thoughts she'd been keeping at bay returned and she was forced to confront the problem, and danger, that the child was in. "It's no good. It's going to happen sooner or later. She…she'll need to be prepared."

Butch's head snapped up. He took one look at her face and he sighed in exasperation. "You grew attached didn't you?"

She refused to answer.

"Odin's beard."

"She's a child. No more than 16 but she looks so much younger. She's lost a lot of weight and now that she can walk and move, she's showing signs of rebellion."

"I don't blame the girl," Butch said and took a long swig of his drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. A commotion to the left drew their attention and they turned to watch Grimm showing off the foreigner that they'd captured along with the princess, to the rest of the Vikings.

It made Milkweed ashamed to watch the way her fellow men carried themselves. Like if they were children. From where she as sitting, she could see that Grimm was making the foreigner clean up the mess they were leaving behind as well as mocking him as he did. Despite the fact that he couldn't understand Norse, Milkweed was sure he wasn't stupid enough to miss the mocking laughter and superior tone in the older man's voice.

"Oh, he's getting good and angry," Butch commented. It was true. The man's face was getting as red as his hair and his jaw was clenched tight.

"I'm hoping he takes a swipe at one of them."

Milkweed made a disapproving noise. "He's just going to get punished."

Sure enough, after Grimm went as far as poking him, the foreigner reached back and punched his face. Grimm stumbled back and clutched his broken noise, letting out a pained cry. Taking advantage of the chains on his shackles, he wound it around the man's throat and began chocking him. Everyone around them immediately jumped into action. Even Milkweed, who ran over and helped the others pull the foreigner off. Grimm fell to the floor, gasping for breath, a large bruise forming around his throat. The foreigner screamed and struggled like a rabid wolf.

Grimm was yelling now too. His nose was definitely broken and blood was running down between his fingers. "That bastard. I'll teach him not to mess with me."

"Shut them up!" someone grunted.

"What is going on?" Captain Dogbert yelled as he made his way towards them.

Butch spoke, having wobbled his way near them. "Grimm here was antagonizing the foreigner and the foreigner attacked him." He shrugged, like if the whole thing was nothing.

Captain Dogbert gave them all a stink eye. "Grimm, take your slave and discipline him. He can't be allowed to start fights. And you. I don't want to see or hear that you've been offering your slave as entertainment. He works. That is it. Do not degrade the man, especially considering his bravery before his capture." Everyone stepped away slowly and watched as Grimm stuttered an apology and rushed the foreigner out of there.

"Well that was…something," Butch commented softly as him and Milkweed retreated back to their table. He was sneaking looks at Captain Dogbert. It was a look filled with admiration. "Glad Captain Dogbert is around. He's the only voice of reason. Besides ourselves of course."

Milkweed had to agree with that. When Oswald the Agreeable had died, most of the high ranking Vikings had been stripped of their power (Dagur claiming they were too old) and he'd promoted men of his own liking. Most were vicious or submissive. But all followed Dagur. Milkweed suspected the only reason Captain Dogbert hadn't been 'expired' too was because even these new men that were loyal to Dagur, also looked up to Captain Dogbert, their mentor.

She shook her thoughts away and instead sneaked her hand beneath the table. Butch got a surprised look over his face, which quickly turned into shy embarrassment. She smirked. Ah, she liked that look on him.

And for the rest of the evening, she did not let her worries depress her.

**Reviews**

**It's me again: Once again, you are far too kind. Thank you. I'm glad you like Vicious. He's actually a reimagining of a character from the books (I haven't read the books but I figured I could take some creative liberties seeing as how the movie isn't completely like the books either). And don't you worry; there will be plenty more of Merida. I actually quite like Dagur as a character but, yeah, he's a terrible person. Wouldn't want to be friends with him.**

**Guest: I'm sorry? I wasn't aware there was a rule that character development had to take place in long chapters. ********If you're going to critique me (which is fine - I love it) you're going to have to give me more than just 'short chapters, what the hell.' **I actually plan out my chapters by scenes where little important things will actually mean more in later chapters. I'm not a strictly short chapter writer; I have and will write long chapters, but only when the scene demands it. Take this chapter for example. The purpose of it was to establish Milkweed as a character that is starting to sympathize with Merida. This might or might not be good, you don't know yet. There are also some other things that will become apparent as more chapters come out. If you can't read between the lines, then either I failed as a writer, or you're just not paying attention. And when I said character driven, I only meant for right now. The story does have a plot. It is both a character driven story and a plot driven story because as you can see, Merida yearns to go home. My decisions aren't random, they are carefully planned out. I hope you liked the story anyway, despite the short chapters. If you were put off, that's fine too. I'm aware that my writing style won't appeal to everyone.

**A/N: Thanks again for reading. Next chapter is going to be a Dagur chapter.**


	9. Part 1: Chapter 8

**Dagur**

Dagur had calmed down a lot these last two days. He'd ripped and raged at his men, had even made one go off and be his 'prey' so he could go hunting (it had been a good hunt). A shame for the Viking who'd been too slow to avoid an arrow through his shoulder. Heheh, not really. If he couldn't dodge that, then he had no business being part of his armada.

But through it all, his mind had not stopped going back to his princess.

Merida. Wasn't that what that other, obnoxious foreigner had called her?

She angered and excited him all at the same time. How was he supposed to concentrate when she was just a couple rooms over? By sheer force of will, that's how. But it frustrated him that he had to put in effort into not thinking about her.

Perhaps he just needed to take her and get it over with.

But if what happened last time was any indication, he might want to start off by lulling her into a sense of security. Hum, now that was a plan. He wasn't one for being patient but he could do it if it meant he'd win the prize at the end. And what a prize. He grew excited just thinking about it.

That's why, after much deliberation, he'd decided to forgive his princess and take her out for a nice relaxing stroll around the village. Haha!

"Vorg!" he yelled as he fished for his armor and boots. The ditzy Viking immediately appeared.

"Yes sir?"

He grunted as he braided his hair and placed his helmet over his head. "Get Milkweed and tell her to get my princess ready for an outing." He flashed Vorg a feral smile. "Tell her to make her as – um – lovely as possible."

And why not? His princess's looks pleased him. And he hated the Visithugs. Showing her off would make him immensely happy, and annoy his hosts. A win-win situation.

Vorg rambled on about something or other before scrambling out of there. Honestly, Dagur was surrounded by incompetent Vikings. Loyal, but incompetent. It took five minutes for him to exit his room and make his way outside. He covered his face, squinting at the bright light. So it was going to be one of those days. Whatever, it least it looked like weather his princess would appreciate.

His eyes caught sight of Dogbert and immediately he called him over. "Any interesting news? Like say scheming behind my back perhaps?" He watched Dogbert's face carefully. Of course his face was like stone.

"Nothing Dagur. Just the usual. Some fights between the restless men. Many are itching to get back home." Dagur rolled his eyes at this. "The foreigner is also causing trouble."

His smirked. "He just needs a kick in the right direction. Looks like he's not getting the right encouragement at home. Ugh, why did I even give that – what's his name? – a slave if he was only going to let him do whatever he wants?"

Silence.

"Well?" Dagur prompted with annoyance.

Dogbert grumbled, "Because he captured the princess, instead of killing her as had been your orders."

That gave Dagur pause. "Well, now that you put it that way, he did disobey orders. And I gave him a reward for it." That would not do. He needed to resolve this discrepancy as soon as possible. But his thought process was disrupted at the appearance of his princess. Her looks gave him pause. He should reward Milkweed. His princess looked wonderful.

Her hair was tied into a braid that rested on her shoulder. She was wearing another stolen dress and although it wasn't as fine as the one she'd originally had on, it was still exotic looking. It hugged her figure attractively and Dagur immediately grinned.

"And how are you today my princess?" he asked, not expecting an answer.

She was glaring at him but he liked her all the more for it.

He reached over and grabbed her hand in his. It was small in comparison and she tried to twist it out of his grip. But he would have none of that. They needed to look united. Because he needed to demonstrate to everyone that _he_ was the one in charge, not her. What happened a few days ago had damaged his pride as well as his image but if the bruises on her face were anything to go by, then the people would realize who was really in control. Also, it never hurt anyone if she stood as a symbol about what happened to people who disobeyed him.

Milkweed stood awkwardly to the side and he turned to shoo her away. "I'll be handling this. You can go and, I don't know, fuck Butch the Lame since you've been eyeing each other since we go here." Her face burned scarlet and he smiled but said nothing else.

Haha, she'd thought they'd been hiding it well from everyone. Well, Dagur wasn't stupid.

"Come on now, princess," he said and started dragging her to the market place. She made noises of protest, or maybe pain. He wasn't sure. Whichever it was though, he couldn't help but find them cute.

The market was busy, it being morning. The smell of fish, spices, and steel work permeated the air. Despite the people crisscrossing between one vendor and the other, Dagur had no problem navigating. Vikings parted like if he was on fire. They did pause in their doings as they passed by though, to gape at them: some showed disgust, others discomfort, but all were weary at his presence. He just smirked and drew her closer. There was really no reason for him to be walking through here but this...this was worth it. The looks and stares. And also he figured he could buy his princess things. It might make her relax around him. Even if it didn't work, she needed things like clothes and jewelry anyway.

His eyes caught sight of an intricate fur pelt in one of the stalls and immediately decided that Merida would look good in it.

"Let me see that," he barked at the weaver. The man threw the article of closing at him as if it were poisoned. How disrespectful. If this was one of his men, Dagur would have punished him severely. But then again, what could he expect form a tribe ruled by a soft chief that picked up strays from the streets and made them his heir?

He felt the fur beneath his forefinger and thumb pad. It was fine quality. "Do you like this?" he asked her as he held it out for her inspection.

She tried to get out of his hold again but when she couldn't she just looked away, another huff leaving her small, kissable lips. He gritted his teeth and looked at the fur himself.

"It's a little too big. I'll have someone modify it for you." He made a hand signal and one of his men came to take the fur coat from him. When it looked like they were going to move away without paying, the weaver made a hesitant choking sound.

"Sir," he said and hunched into himself when he saw four Berserkers surrounding him.

"What is it," Dagur asked sweetly. He liked watching people sweat. He wondered what this one would do. Most kept silent because they feared his wrath (an honest and reasonable reason to be scared). But those were cowards and did not deserve to be called Vikings. If you are not willing to face your fears, then what good were you? This one at least looked like he was chocking for breath. He wanted to laugh at the sight.

"T-the pay," the weaver managed to gasp out.

Well well. Not a complete coward then. That deserved a reward. He dug out a four gold piece and slammed them down on the table. The man's eyes bugged out at the amount.

Dagur grinned. "I always pay my dues," he said. Then his motioned for his men to follow. There was still a lot to see.

By the time they'd managed to cut across on their way to the beach, Dagur had bought a bag of dresses, bone jewelry, and precious stones to decorate Merida neck and wrists. She didn't look any happier, if anything she looked disgusted, but Dagur chose to ignore that. He also bought some things for himself, such as a beautifully decorated scabbard.

"Take these back to her room," Dagur ordered Vorg, handing him the bag filled with Merida's new things. "Except this," he said when he spotted the delicate silver chain with an emerald dragon hanging off it. He smiled at his princess who tried to back away but couldn't. Instead, he heard her sigh in resignation and let him clip it on her. Ah, she was learning. This pleased him. It didn't matter that the necklace would most likely mysteriously disappear sometime later.

"Now onwards to the beach," he shouted and this time took her hand gently in his. He couldn't help but swing it from side to side, like he'd seen other couples do. Might as well take advantage. She was his to do what he pleased after all. And he wanted to enjoy her company. She wasn't like all the other girls and that was refreshing.

The beach was deserted and he took her far enough away from the village that they could barely see the ships in the distance. It was only then that he settled down. He made her sit next to him and then he gazed out at sea. It was oddly…soothing. And still. A rare thing for him. It was the only way he could excuse the sudden desire to talk that surged up within him.

"We'll be home soon. You'll like it. Or at least, you'll learn to like it. It doesn't matter to me as long as you don't die. My sister will probably talk you to death. My mother might try to kill you at first but don't worry, I won't let her. She'll end up liking you soon enough anyway. Especially when you become my official wife. Mother can't do anything to you after that since she's been the one nagging me none stop for two years about marrying and securing the line."

He turned to look at her and saw she was frozen stiff. Her body was lightly trembling and he thought she was cold. He frowned disapprovingly at Milkweed. "Ah, incompetent woman. She should have fitted you with your cloak." Standing up, he removed his furred cape and dumped it on her thin shoulders. Immediately she tried to shake it off but Dagur grabbed the back of her neck and she stilled.

"That's a good girl," he said and leaned in close to smell her hair. He felt a jab on his knee and pulled back with a laugh.

"Even with your body bruised and beaten you won't stop fighting me." He rested his hands on his hips. "I like that."

She eyed him wearily and it was then that Dagur realized she had pretty eyes. Round in shape and a deep blue color. Dagur had always liked blue eyes. His mother had blue eyes. So did his sister.

He stared at her small thin mouth.

He really wanted to kiss her and it annoyed him that he had to restrain himself. At the same time, he grew excited. It was like a game. As good as hunting.

"Come on. _Merida_," he said, testing out her name.

It was worth it to see her jerk her head upwards to stare at him. She looked surprised.

"Oh yes, I know your name. Your…friend screamed it across the hall. Good thing he did. I was wondering what your name was. I was going to name you if I couldn't discover it in time for when we reached Berserker Island." He shrugged and watched her get to her feet. She brushed the sand away and drew herself to her full height. She said something in her native tongue. He couldn't understand but he caught the meaning based solely on her sneering lips.

His hand shot out and he squeezed her elbow. She winced as he leaned in close to her face, noses almost touching, and whispered, "Aw, don't be that way." His eyes trailed down from her freckled face to her lips. Lips that were pulled back in a scowl. And almost as fast as it had happened, Dagur pulled away. "That weather's changing. Let's go back."

By the time they got back, the clouds had finished blocking the sun and traces of hail were bouncing off his head and shoulders. They hurried on over to the long house only to pause at the sight of Vicious ordering men to cover the livestock and delicate goods from the hail. He saw them coming and immediately frowned.

Dagur just smirked and circled his arm around her waist. "Hellloooo, Vicious, my good friend. And how has your day been?"

"Dagur," Vicious said. He jerked his head towards Merida. "You should probably take her inside. This weather isn't good for her. Especially since she's not wearing appropriate clothing."

Dagur immediately felt annoyance surge up. "Yes. I know." And then he left, squeezing his princess closer to his body. He felt Vicious's triumphant eyes on his back as he disappeared inside the building. That snake. They were quiet as he silently fumed. He spotted Milkweed by the dining hall and screamed at her to get over here.

"Yes sir," she said, slightly out of breath. She was looking behind her at the useless Viking.

He just sneered at that and shoved Merida into her arms. Milkweed looked startled but reacted nonetheless and easily steadied his princess. "Here. Warm her up and put her to bed. She was limping a little so I think she either has blisters or you missed an injury on her. For your sake, it better not be anything serious."

For a moment, it looked like she was going to say something but then she bit her lip and just nodded. Good. If she had started arguing he was sure he would have punched her in the gut. He left them and marched straight to his room. As soon as he locked his door, he drew out his knife and threw it at the far wall. It embedded itself in the wood. He repeated the process over and over again until he was panting like an enraged animal.

He almost hoped one of his men walked in. So he could use them as target practice. But his men knew him all too well.

He passed out an hour later on his bed and dreamed of war and blood. Of Vicious's head on a pike, as symbol of Dagur's superiority and strength. Of Hiccup begging for mercy as he slaughtered the Night Fury in front of his eyes, and then went down the line, killing his merry group of groupies, finishing with his father. The great Stoick the Vast. How he would cry. And Dagur would just laugh at his misery and point his sword at him. He'd take his time with Hiccup, cutting him to cause him the maximum amount of pain. He would not let him die so easily. That's what anyone that makes of fool of him deserves. He gives them his friendship and what do they do? Spit all over it. And then, the blood and gore morphed into cornflower blue eyes, pink freckled face, and fire for hair. A warm body appeared beneath him and he stared in awe as she reached out towards him, opening herself to him so he could take. His eyes roamed over her petal like flesh, at her soft breasts, and suddenly he desired nothing else but to taste her abundance.

He slept deeply and soundly that night.

**To It's me again: I'm glad you like the OCs. Usually I'm hesitant about putting one in, let alone several. But this story could only work if there were other characters participating. Yeah, Ivor is back. But only fleetingly. For now. He's having a rougher time in Viking lands than Merida (when it comes living conditions and physical violence) not to mention he feels even more alone since he honestly can't understand any Norse. Yeah, Milkweed was more of a surprise to me when I first started out. I guess now we'll see where she goes. Thank you so much again. **

**A/N: Next chapter is a Vicious chapter.**


	10. Part 1: Chapter 9

**Vicious**

The morning was chilly and dreary but Vicious couldn't be in a better mood. Dagur and his godsforsaken armada were leaving. Finally. He was so happy and so grateful that he was helping the Berserkers _pack_. And he was doing it with a smile on his face. Which everyone else was finding creepy because they were giving him a wide berth. No matter, it made packing faster and more efficient.

He was still a little pissed off about yesterday, Dagur flaunting the girl around like a trophy. Having the audacity to try to act like they were a normal couple. It was sickening. And it wasn't like Dagur had stopped acting. He still had her in his arms even now as he supervised everything and shouted orders. She looked like the most miserable human being in the world and, honestly, Vicious was glad he would never be a position like that. It made him pity and admire her. Then again, he pitied and admired Dagur's men and the fact that they could stand to be around him.

He grunted as he lifted a barrel of ale onto one of the long boats.

The large Viking grunted his thanks and Vicious drew back to admire the sight of them getting ready to depart.

It was at that moment that he saw one of the Viking men stumble and dropped the rope sustaining the sail. The pole swung around, aiming straight for the girl. Dagur had moved away a bit to yell at a Viking so he was unaware of the girl's danger. Everything slowed down and he couldn't help but jump into action.

"Look out! Above you!" he cried. Even before he started running her way, he knew he wouldn't arrive on time. But then, something extraordinary happened. The girl looked up at his shout and ducked out of the way, just as the pole came swinging around where her head should have been.

He reached her side just as everyone started yelling and trying to get a hold of the wayward mast. Kneeling down, he offered his hand just as she looked up with her sharp eyes and it was like falling into an icy ocean.

Everything fell into place.

"You understand -" He winced as she squeezed his hand in a death grip and lifted her fingers to her lips.

"Please," she said in Norse her eyes wide.

Ah. He nodded lightly and helped her to her feet just as Dagur barreled through and shoved him off her.

"Are you okay?" He touched her everywhere, looking for an injury. She just grunted and once he was satisfied that she wasn't bleeding or cut, he lifted his head and snarled, "Who was the fucking idiot that let the mast go?" Silence. He swung his head around, veins bulging and eyes manically wide. "Well?"

A couple of Vikings shoved a trembling man forward and before anyone could even blink, Dagur had grabbed him by the throat and rammed his face into the steering oar several times. The man screamed and then chocked on his blood. Everyone remained quiet and just watched as Dagur dragged his twitching body over to the edge and threw him overboard. Everyone heard him scream and then splutter as he tried to swim back to shore with is broken body. "Worthless," he spat. He wiped his hands on his armor and then calmly turned to gaze upon Vicious.

His face turned into a strained smile and Vicious suddenly really wanted to get away. He did not need false gratitude thrown his way.

"Vicious. You saved my betrothed. I'm…forever grateful. And I'm in your debt." He said that last part as if it pained him. Good. Dagur was not known to be thankful for anything. But despite his pride, he did offer his hand to shake. Vicious took it grudgingly, if only because it was expected of him. He also allowed himself to savor this show of equality from Dagur's part. He knew it was killing him inside.

Vicious smiled a gesture that was not too far off from smirking. "I'll hold you to it."

They squeezed each other's hands until they were red in the face.

"Dagur," a man shouted, causing heads to turn. "We're ready to set sail."

"Perfect," he said, retracting his hand and taking Merida's. He turned his eyes back to him, shoulders tense and dangerous but voice deceptively light. "It was a pleasure being here. I appreciate your hospitality. Give my regards to your mother and father who, unfortunately, could not be here."

"I will," Vicious said. His eyes momentarily flickered over to Merida who gazed at him with true gratefulness and subtly bowed her head at him, her curls swinging forward and back as she was jerked backwards by Dagur. She gave him one last look before Vicious was forced to get off the ship.

The creak and groan of the ships moving as well as the heave and grunts of the oaring men, was music to his ears. Dagur shouted some indiscernible orders and another captain from another boat mimicked him. Vicious stood back, arms crossed, the smile twitching on and off on his lips. Combined with the frown, he was sure he looked like he was suffering some great discomfort. No one said anything though, just joining him by his side.

Viewing the departure from the docks was a spectacle. Many of his people breathed a sigh of relief as the ships grew smaller and smaller in the horizon.

"Good riddance," one of them grumbled.

"They were gobbling everything up like a pack of starving Terrors."

"Who do they think they are? Food doesn't grow on trees."

Vicious laughed, causing a chain reaction of laughter.

"The dragons can come out again!" a little boy shouted and everyone cheered. They'd all missed the dragons. They'd taken for granted how integrated they were in their daily life, whereas before many were still suspicious of them (Ruthless being one of them). In fact, many of the older Vikings were too set in their mindset to make any great effort for change.

_That's why you're a ray of hope to our people_, Glum had told him one day, shortly after the Hooligans and the Meatheads had left to go back to their islands_. The young generation is more adaptable to change. Your alliances could possibly help us one day_.

Maybe. Vicious had already formed a great bond with Thuggory, heir to the Meathead tribe. And now, with the dragons and the Berserkers and the threat of the Outcasts, it had been a smart move to cooperate with the Berkians. Though, personally, Vicious could not see the praise and honor in Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III. He was a scrawny thing. Brainy. Frail boned. It didn't look like it would take much to bowl him over.

That Night Fury though was beautiful. How could he have gotten a hold of something so rare and deadly? It seemed almost ludicrous.

Well, the gods did as they pleased. And besides, if it hadn't been for Hiccup, he might have never befriended Pyra. And he would be dead.

Speaking of whom, Vicious took a step forward to go and find Pyra but paused and gave the specks in the distance one last glance. He could almost picture Merida standing by the edge, looking out to sea. Her future was looking grim and yet…

"Gods, she's something else," he whispered. She had balls to be keeping quiet, knowing exactly what everyone was talking about. Knowing exactly what Dagur was planning for her. Not many people would be able to keep their cool.

"I hope you succeed," he said aloud and walked out of there in search of Pyra.

oOo

He spent a long time with Pyra at the tower and ultimately came to the decision that he needed to pay Thuggory a visit. Not only because he needed to relay the news that Dagur was back in the Archipelago, but also to just get away. His parents would probably not be happy though. The last time he'd taken off for an adventure, he'd been gone for almost a year and he'd come back with a dragon.

Ruthless was waiting for him when he got back. She pressed her lips together at the sight of Pyra but said nothing. Similarly, Pyra huffed smoke rings out of her nostrils before turning her neck and spitting fire over her wings. The small bushes behind them burst into flames and she turned to taunt his mother. Vicious knew that if she could, Pyra would be smirking.

"Easy, girl," he said, petting her scales and watching her relax under his hands.

"Yes," Ruthless said, looking at the dragon with an upturned nose. She turned back to Vicious. "I heard the departure didn't go as smoothly as was planned but that everything turned out alright?"

"You heard correctly," he said and moved on past her to feed Pyra some fish. She followed him.

"I'm glad." They had made their way over to the storage shed. And while Vicious went off to hunt for the food, his mother lingered by the door. "I was worried you know."

"About what?" He kicked over a barrel of freshly caught fish which Pyra immediately dug into. There was no mistaking the hardness in his voice as he turned back to face his mother. "That Dagur would attack or that I wouldn't be able to control myself?"

"Actually," she said with a small smile. "I was worried _I_ wouldn't be able to control myself." She rolled her eyes at his surprised face. "What? That boy treats everyone like a cockroach at the mercy of his shoe. The fact that he thinks you're nothing but trash gets my blood boiling like nothing else."

"It's Dagur." And thought popped into his head. "Did he say something?"

Her silence was confirmation enough. Godsdamn Dagur. He spreads discord and malice wherever he went. "What did he say?"

"Nothing that is worth repeating."

"Well obviously you can't let it go if it's still bothering you. Was it during the feast? Is that why you've been acting odd?" He sighed. "Mother, you know he's a lunatic. Nothing that spews out of his mouth is worth considering."

"Yes. I know. But he had no right. No right." He watched her fight to control herself. Vicious knew very well whose temper he'd taken after. What exactly had Dagur had said? It must have been horrible if it could get his mother this worked up. He wondered why his parents hadn't said anything. Maybe they thought it would set him off.

Whatever it was, Vicious didn't like seeing his mother like this. He got closer towards her and rested a hand on her shoulder to show support. Just like she'd done, some many times before when he was on the cusp of loosing control. "Calm down. It's in the past. Dagur's left and we can finally move on with our lives. He doesn't deserve so much of our attention."

She managed a smile and her fist slowly unclenched. Taking a deep breath, Ruthless moved towards him and in a rare show of physical affection drew him close to her by the neck and gave him a one armed hug.

The shed was quiet. Even Pyra had stopped to stare. Vicious was suddenly very self-conscious but made no effort to push her away. After a moment, Ruthless was the first to break the silence. "I know I'm not your real mother," she whispered into his hair. "But you know we love you as if you were. Right?"

Of course he knew. He didn't need her to tell him this. Wait. Was this about Dagur again? He hadn't thought it possible, but Vicious got angry at the bastard all over again. If he hadn't already left, he was sure he would have marched on over to _finally_ give him that long deserving punch.

"He's lucky he's gone," Vicious seethed and clutched at her arm tightly.

She chuckled and she finally let go of him. They smiled and everything was good.

Until Vicious told her that he was leaving for Meathead Island.

"What?" she said in a long and sharp voice.

He shrugged. "I want to visit. And I have important news."

It looked like Ruthless was trying not to yell at him. Her mouth opened and closed and Vicious would have laughed if he wasn't so sure she would kill him for it. "Go talk to your father," was all she could say before she left without another word.

Well…he'd known it wasn't going to be easy and while he preferred their approval, he didn't need it.

"Enjoying the spectacle?" he said when he caught Pyra staring, having forgotten almost completely her food. She immediately shoved more fish in her mouth. But not before drawing him close with one wing and keeping him trapped against her side.

**To StillAnonymous: Sorry to disappoint that this wasn't the big chapter you were expecting. But it's a coming. Just a little bit more. And you're right. I'm saving the kingdom for later. Patience. All shall be revealed. Once again, this chapter was set up for a possible meeting between Merida and the other, friendlier tribes, in the far distant future. As far as I've physically outlined this story, this is the last of Vicious's appearance. Still, there are some other characters to be revealed though and I hope they don't disappoint. Thanks for reading.**

**A/N: Next chapter is a Butch chapter.**


	11. Part 1: Chapter 10

**Butch**

The night air was biting and the waves were being uncooperative. Many were praying to Thor for safe passage. If the thunderstorm going on above them was any indication, it was going to be an ugly night.

But that wasn't what had Butch's attention. He was sitting alone in the tent, half his body inside and relatively warm and his other half was getting soaked by the rain. He had his head titled to the side, his face utterly confused as he watched Dagur shield the princess with his furs, rubbing small circles on her back and whispering something in her ear. She looked like she wanted to punch him but she was a smart girl. Instead she bore his attention with disgruntled resignation.

It wasn't even _that_ that had him confused (and possibly a little afraid). What the Hel? It was the giant, genuine smile on Dagur's face.

He wasn't sure what was wrong with Dagur. It was almost like, he _cared_ about the princess. Which was an insane and an impossible thought. No, it was more likely he was suffering through a cold or food poisoning. _That's_ why he was being generous and polite. Or as generous and as polite as he could be without the others thinking he was a changeling or doppelganger.

Yes, that was it. It was just impossible that Dagur could have actual _feelings_ for another person. But no matter how much he reasoned with himself, he couldn't completely convince himself and while he pitied the princess he couldn't help but think that, maybe, she was actually good for him.

Perhaps it was a good thing that she hadn't been killed and that Dagur had taken an interest in her.

Milkweed appeared, sweating and panting, just as he pondered this. She was soaked to the bone and her hair was loose and lying damp on her forehead and neck.

"The world is ending," he said.

She gave him a weird look. "It's just a thunderstorm."

"Not that."

"What are you talking about then?"

He motioned towards Dagur and the princess. At that moment he was giving her a quick peck on the cheek and Butch shuddered at the sight of it just as the princess jerked back and stepped on Dagur's toes. "I think it means a brighter and better tomorrow for us Berserkers. If that girl can make him feel something else besides anger and manic joy, I'll take it."

"Even at the sacrifice of the girl?" she asked, finally understanding what he was referring to.

Butch shrugged. "I don't know her. She seems like a nice girl but, I mean, she can't go back home. She's stuck here. She has to make the best of what she's got. Weren't you the one that told me she has to get used to the idea of, well, Dagur and us?"

Milkweed frowned. "Yes…but it doesn't mean I'm happy about it."

"Of course not. I'm not happy about it either but just think about it. Life will be better for everyone if it turns out that Dagur mellows out after experiencing married life." He really hoped Dagur would become more tolerable. Things couldn't keep going the way they were. If Butch weren't crippled and the others weren't so scared, he would have started a mutiny long ago.

"Besides, it's not like we can do anything to stop it. We just have to be grateful he didn't take an interest in a person as insane as him. Or as scary as Pandemonium. The princess looks like she's got a good head on her. She's not stupid. She'll pick up the language soon enough and she's not weak by any means. Do you see the way she deals with Dagur? She'll stand as an equal."

"Almost. Dagur still treats her like a prize," Milkweed reminded.

Butch sighed. "Yeah, you're right. Well she'll stand as his almost equal. And who knows, maybe that will change as time goes by."

"If Pandemonium has anything to say, I seriously doubt it," Milkweed commented. She shook her head and stifled a shiver. "Well, I have to get back to work. You should get in the tent or you'll catch your death."

"Yeah, yeah," he said.

He watched Dagur and the princess for another minute before his teeth started chattering and he retreated back into the safety of the tent.

It wasn't even ten minutes later that the tent flapped opened and the princess was guided in by the steady hand of Dagur. The princess wasn't soaked but her hair was damp and hung in heavy curls around her face and her cheeks were flushed from the biting wind.

"Get her ale to warm her up," Dagur ordered as he took her to her bedding and urged her to sit down. Butch almost spilled the mug as he watched the way Dagur absolutely dotted on her. Gods, this was like a dream. Or a nightmare. One of the rare good nightmares if those even existed.

"Here," Butch said, holding it out for her but Dagur took it from his hands and gave it to her himself.

"Here," he said but she just looked away. Dagur was not dissuaded. He set it down next to her and pushed her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Then he stood and adjusted his armor and helmet. He narrowed his eyes at Butch who was standing back awkwardly. "Make sure she doesn't get in trouble."

"Yes sir," Butch mumbled and relaxed when he stepped back outside into the storm. He shook his head and turned to the princess who was watching him with weary eyes. Butch couldn't blame her. This was technically the first time they were actually meeting. The other times they had been left alone didn't count because either she'd been passed out or he'd been passed out, both recovering from their injuries.

Ugh, this really was going to be a long night.

Turns out they spent the first two hours just sitting around or pretending to sleep before Butch had the great idea to play _Hnefatafl _by himself. He was at it for thirty minutes when he noticed that the princess had crept closer and was watching him play with intense eyes. He ignored her until he grew board playing alone.

With a grunt he motioned for her to sit across from him with the board game in the middle. Immediately she frowned and scurried back.

"Come now, girl, I don't have any intention of hurting you," he said. He tried to speak softly and held out a white piece. "Here. You can be white and I'll be brown."

She just stared him down like if he was an animal. Well, it wasn't like she'd been treated any better. He sighed and slumped back in his seat. Maybe he should take a nap.

It was like this for the next couple of days. After Dagur took her out with him in the mornings, she would return in the evening and Butch would try to engage her in a game. She refused to budge. Milkweed started giving him looks whenever she walked in on him entreating her with a game piece but said nothing.

Butch was ready to give up but, miraculously, on the eighth day, he woke up from a nap to find her inspecting the pieces closely. She raised her eyes as she felt him move but didn't try to run away. Instead, she placed the king in the center and started setting the game up by memory.

His jaw dropped as she made her move.

Cautiously, he got closer, not wanting to spook her. He looked down and whistled. "Did – did you learn the rules just by watching me?" She just raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to make his move.

He grinned. "You're a smart one."

After that, they passed a lot of time playing _Hnefatafl. _

Merida always won.

It was…fun. He hadn't felt any spark of joy (not related to Milkweed at least) since Dagur had crippled him. This girl though. Some nights he seriously contemplated whether she was a witch. It seemed like the only explanation for how she could get results in him and in Dagur.

When they weren't playing, Merida was being dragged around by Dagur. He called it taking her out for fresh air. Butch thought it looked more like a master taking his pet out for walks. It boiled his blood but, still, Dagur was being almost _human_. He hadn't beaten anyone or killed anyone. He was _pleasant_ when Merida was by his side. And sometimes, she even managed to stop conflict from happening simply by showing disapproval.

What in the gods names?

The girl was magic.

She also had a streak of mean humor as he found out later when she'd named one of the board pieces 'Dagur' and had promptly sat him aside to drown in her ale. The piece had lain in the mug for the better part of the day and when she'd finally taken it out, it had been soggy.

She'd given him a sheepish smile when she'd handed it back to him and gave him what he thought might have been an apology. Although she hadn't _really_ looked sorry. It hadn't mattered though because Butch hadn't been angry. She'd probably needed it to take out some of her pent up frustration. In fact, Butch wished _he_ could have thought of it. It probably would have helped him through those first few depressing days.

As time dragged on, he realized he'd stopped calling her the princess in his head and had begun seeing her as Merida. And it turned out he liked Merida.

He pondered this one night as he lay awake, hearing her gentle snore a couple of feet away. Her heard her murmur something and shift lightly in her bed. He hoped she wasn't going to have a nightmare tonight. Gods know she had too many of them already. He wondered what she dreamed about. It must be terrifying because most of the time, she woke up with a scream stuck in her throat.

Poor child.

"Odin's beard," he muttered as he realized what he'd just thought. He sighed and banged his head lightly on the floor. Great. He'd done what he'd warned Milkweed about. He'd become _attached_ to her. He slapped his face. That was never good.

Couldn't find it in himself to regret it though. The miserable should stick together after all. And they had a common enemy.

Merida really was too young. And she didn't deserve this. She was smart and funny and vulnerable but strong. He was sure she could beat him with a sword as much as with her brain. He'd seen her hands. They weren't soft like a whore's. They were calloused like a warrior's.

Besides, now that he was thinking about it, he realized the potential happiness Merida might be bringing Dagur (because godsdammit she was something) and, well, fuck Dagur. He didn't deserve happiness and he didn't deserve Merida.

He settled back in his bed, the sound of Merida for once having a peaceful sleep relaxed him, and contemplated the complete disaster that was inevitably coming.

**A/N: Sorry I didn't update yesterday. I woke up in the afternoon, did some homework, and then I went out and didn't come back until very late. **

**Reviews**

**StillAnonymous: Well, not all of the tribes have dragons. Really, it's only Berk that rides them. The Meathead and the Visithug islanders are learning tolerance and have integrated the dragons into their lives, instead of just killing them which is pretty much all that Hiccup wants. And as of now, they are the only tribes who have accepted dragons (not counting the Outcasts who just want to use them for their own personal gain). The reason for this is because Hiccup is being very careful on who he chooses to show is hand. Meathead was first because they're neighbors and after he reeled in the Meathead tribe, Visithug followed. I guess I'd also like to mention that Vicious is a special exception to the 'only Berkians ride dragons.' And as you can see, not everyone is happy about this new treatment of dragons (Ruthless) but they're learning.**

**I guess that this would be a good time to point out that I'm adding my own mythology into the world so it's kind of changing things. It shouldn't change too much but enough where I can spin off a believable alternative story for a select few of characters.**

**Hi I'm new: Nice to have someone else on board. Hope you'll stick around even when I tell you that...no. There probably will not be Mericcup. Although if they do meet, it would not surprise me one bit if they developed this sort of platonic attraction to each other. Haha. Actually, I wouldn't mind continuing after I finish the story arc. I'd have to wait until How To Train Your Dragon 2 comes out though.**

**Warning! (even if it isn't explicit, I'm still warning for the themes): next chapter is a Merida chapter. Some unpleasant things will happen. I want to update on Wednesday but I have a busy week and might just post it on Friday or Saturday. I'm nearing the end of Part 1 and then I'll be taking a little break so I can focus more on school before starting back on Part 2. Thanks again for all those that read. **


	12. Part 1: Chapter 11

**A/N: Yup, everything has been building up to this. I feel I should warn you all that this is not a happy chapter so read at your own risk.**

**Merida**

They arrived on Peaceable Country a little over a week after leaving the Visithug people. The cliffs jutted out in the horizon, white and coated with snow. Merida wanted to shout with joy but held back. It had been torture being in such an enclosed space with Dagur. The only saving grace that Merida could find on this godforsaken ship was, oddly enough, the company of the Vikings Butch and Milkweed. Although they weren't her favorite people, they were tolerable and at least understanding to her plight. She still would have wished for Ivor to be around, so she could at least talk to someone in her own tongue. It would have been a comfort.

Salt wind swept her hair about as she stood back and watched the Vikings set up camp. A man bumped into her and she shied away. He grunted an apology and continued forward, carrying two barrels of ale on his shoulders.

She said nothing, just focused her attention back on the camp…and at what lay beyond it.

Far off, she could see a forest. It sprouted up high and green and dark and her heart sped up in excitement. Her fingers slipped down to the belt around her waist, fingering the needle that lay hidden between its widths. Tonight. She'd do it tonight.

A hand landed on her shoulder and she immediately drew away only to find that she couldn't. A familiar laugh reached her ears and she cringed.

"Come along Merida. I already set up your tent." He gestured grandiosely to the large white tent centered in the middle. Other Viking men were fixing it up. Smoke was curling up near by and people were filing into a line. "There's food. You need to fatten up a bit more." He poked her belly.

Growling, Merida's hands shot out to shove him away. He only laughed and brought her closer to his body, locking their fingers together. She wanted to grab her hair and scream in frustration. It was like nothing she did could get him angry enough to leave her alone. If anything, it only ever encouraged him.

If she didn't get away soon she was going to go insane.

Lunch consisted of fish and water (because she refused to expose herself to the possibility of getting intoxicated) with some dried fruit on the side. She ate slowly, Dagur next to her, teeth gnawing through a bone while his other hand rested on her thigh, the fire blazing, bright and warm in front of them. She listened to their chatter.

They kept bringing up another tribe. Berk? Hooligan tribe? It was obvious Dagur hated them. She put away that bit of information for later. It might become useful once she escaped and made alliances. If her mother had taught her anything, it was that strong allies made for strong defenses and security network. But by far, the most interesting bit of information was the dragons bit.

Merida had heard stories of the monstrous beasts the prowled the skies and snatched up people. How they horded gold in their caves. She'd never seen one alive before but her father liked to say that he'd seen one in his youth, when he'd traveled to the south. He'd said it had been 60 feet tall with a wing span that blocked out the sun. She'd thought it was a nice story but now, she wasn't so sure it was a story. The Vikings talked about the dragons as if they were a persistent problem. And they kept mentioning a Dragon Conqueror. She shivered. What if the mounted dragon skull down in the castle's basement wasn't just a primitive relic of times past? What if dragons really did exist?

It would make the world she was now in even more dangerous. On top of Vikings, she'd have to deal with dragons.

She wanted to hug herself but she couldn't show weakness. Not in front of Dagur and his men. Instead, she waited until they were done feasting and telling stories. Dagur escorted her to her tent, chaining her legs together so she couldn't run. It had not been necessary before because on the boat, there had been no place to run to and back on Visithug territory she'd been locked away in her room. Now, though, it had been the first thing she'd been shown before leaving the boat. Dagur had been more than happy to dangle them in front of her face and she suspected it brought him some sort of sick pleasure.

Her attention returned back to him as he kissed her goodnight on the cheek, almost getting her lips but she turned away just in time. He just shrugged and laughed it off, patting her cheek patronizingly before leaving her alone with her thoughts.

In the safety of her tent, she allowed herself a moment to breakdown. She was terrified and hopeful and happy all at the same time. Her hand trembled as she reached down to her belt and started working the needle out. It took a minute and she pricked her finger during the struggle to work it loose. Once it was out, she held it up to the dim lighting of the torches. It glimmered faintly like her own ray of sunlight and she caressed it lovingly. When she'd taken it, she'd had no idea what it could be used for. She'd taken it simply because it had been sharp and she figured she could use it as a weapon, if only to distract someone long enough for her to make a run for it. But now, she knew exactly what she was going to use this little needle for. How could something so small, have all her hopes riding on it?

"Please work," she whispered. She looked towards the tent flaps.

Sighing, she clutched it in her palms and settled herself on the fur bed. She needed to wait until the camp was quiet. It was her best bet at escaping and actually succeeding.

She zoned out for a couple of hours, hearing the sound of their laughter and merrymaking fade away, making way for the night noise. Milkweed came to check on her at one point but Merida pretended to sleep. She adjusted the blanket on her and then left. Finally, Merida opened her eyes to the pitch darkness of her tent. Quietly, she pulled the blanket off of her. Her chains faintly rattled as she slowly moved her leg in front of her. She bit her lip and froze but when no one came, she continued on.

Needle in hand, Merida inserted it into the padlock and began maneuvering it around. She'd never tried this before so she'd never realized how hard it was. She cursed softly under her breath as she increasingly became more frustrated. It took her a good twenty minutes to hear the faint click and feel the chains fall away.

"Finally," she whispered and pushed the chains away. Silent as a cat, she pushed herself to her feet. Feeling around, she grabbed her cloak and pulled the hood over her hair and slipped some of the warm boots Dagur had procured for her. Although she hated taking anything from him, she knew that her own slippers would not keep her toes from freezing in this weather.

Gathering her courage, Merida slowly pulled back the tent flaps.

The camp was quiet and deserted. Torches lit up the area, fanning out and twirling because of the wind. She shivered as a draft entered her tent but she shook it off. Damn this, the cold was nothing. She could survive the cold. Her eyes focused on the woods and she took a step forward.

Walking through the camp sent her heart racing. At every turn she feared that a Viking would see her and drag her back to Dagur. She wouldn't escape him again, not before the worst happened. Almost. Almost there. Her hand reached out as if she could grasp the forest.

It was then that she remembered Ivor.

She almost tripped as the realization hit her. She couldn't leave him here. Dagur would kill him. She'd been so caught up in her own situation that she hadn't spared Ivor much thought. She bit her thumb nail and immediately looked towards where they kept him, locked up and chained. Then looked back at the woods. She couldn't leave him.

Clutching the needle again in her hand, she crept towards the tent that housed Ivor.

He was sleeping sitting up, his hands and legs shackled to the ground. Looking around one last time, she dropped down to one knee and gently patted his cheek awake. He jerked up and she had to grab his mouth to keep him from shouting. He struggled for a bit and Merida had to jab him in the stomach.

"Quiet," she hissed. Ivor blinked as he finally realized who was in front of him. "Ye need ta shush," she said. She waited for him to nod before she removed her hand.

"Princess?" he whispered as he watched her fiddle with his hand cuffs.

"Give meh a second."

They froze at the sound a tree branch breaking. They traded looks and held their breath. Ivor's hand shot out to clutch at hers but nothing happened. The man past by without stopping and Merida went back to working the locks. With some luck on her side, she managed to get them unlocked in record time and Ivor immediately grabbed her shoulders and guided her to the forest.

They broke through the foliage and ran with wings for feet.

Ivor giggled hysterically. "Princess Merida. I am forever grateful to you."

"Donnae thank me, Ivor," she said. She was out of breath, having spent the last months cooped up without going outside. Another reason to hate the Vikings. "And please. Just call me Merida." She offered him a smile. "Ye have nar idea how happy I am ta be speakin' ta someone again after all this time."

"Aye young one, I do. Worse for me maybe since I don't understand anything."

She supposed that was true. And then they fell silent, trying to conserve energy as they ran for their lives. Merida had never wished to be Angus more than she did at that moment. They ran for what felt hours until they were forced to stop at a river crossing. Merida looked up, straining to see through the tree canopy. Rays of sunlight were filtering in. Dawn was here. The Vikings would notice their absence soon enough. They had to keep going.

Ivor was already rolling up his pants and wading in. Merida bunched up her dress and followed. The water was freezing and by the time they made it to the other bank, their teeth were chattering.

"W-we n-need ta build a f-fire," Merida said. She rubbed her arms, trying to keep warm.

"We can't. W-we have to k-keep running."

Merida glanced back in the direction the camp laid. Running would get her warm and that had to be enough. Setting her face, she nodded and they continued forward.

As the day progressed, the sunlight warmed their limbs. They paused for breaks a handful of times but for the most part, they ran, sparing no time for gathering food although they did drink from the small creeks that they came across. They wanted to get as far away as humanly possible.

It was night time when they finally decided they couldn't go any further because they couldn't see their hand in front of their face. They huddled together by a log and decided to wait out the night. Because of the haste, they'd avoided talking about all that had happened since they'd been captured. Now that the silence was pressing down on them, Ivor couldn't help but apologize.

"I should have fought them off, given you time to run," he said as he recalled the day they'd been captured. "I shouldn't have even let you help me. You should have gone with Maudie and the triplets." She watched him clutch at his hair and curl into himself. "I'm a horrible warrior. Your father would do right in killing me for my failure."

"Oh shut it," she said. She looked up at the starry sky. "It wasnnae yer fault. I'd oof stayed anyway, with or without yer consent. I'm stubborn."

He laughed at that. "True."

She sighed. "Do ye…do ye think they're okay?"

"Princess. Merida. The Dunbrochs are stubborn and strong. And hardy. If I know anything about our people it's that. So believe that they're alright."

"I-," she pulled her legs up and hugged them. "I miss them."

No words were spoken. Ivor just reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

After a while, he said, "Wish we had some ale. I could use a bloody drink."

Merida gave him a huffed smile and curled up on the ground. Ivor did the same and they were back to back, sharing body heat.

They must have dosed off for a couple of minutes because the next thing Merida new, she was warm. Blinking slowly, her eyes tried to adjust to the odd orange light a couple of centimeters from her face. When she finally saw what was there, she screamed, jerking her head back and slamming it against Ivor's. He woke up but couldn't turn because Merida was pushing on his back, trying to get away from the flock of little lizards, hand clutched tightly over her mouth to stop herself from screaming again.

Glowing little lizards.

There were about a dozen surrounding them, the grass beneath their feet bursting into fire.

"What are they?" she cried as she managed to get to her feet. Ivor pushed her behind him and stared wide-eyed as the lizards closed in on them.

"I don't know."

"Run then," she cried. But they didn't get far because at that moment, Merida heard the one noise she hadn't wanted to hear in her life. Viking men, not too far off, shouting orders and trampling their way over to where they were.

"No, no, no," she muttered as she picked up her pace. But it was no use. She was tired, hungry, dehydrated and Ivor was still hurt from whatever beating he'd received from the Viking that had been housing him. They were a loud awkward mess and they made so much noise, it was easy for the Viking men to find them. Finally, Merida and Ivor were cornered. A cliff jutted out before them, impossible to climb. A pond rested on their left and behind them, the men were coming.

"This cannae be happening," Merida whispered. Ivor though, had turned to face the coming barrage.

Three burst through the foliage, armed and angry. The head was a man she'd seen before being bullied by Dagur. What was his name? Vorg? From what she'd seen, he wasn't a very competent Viking. Maybe she had a chance.

Her thoughts were shattered as another dozen men followed behind him.

At least Dagur wasn't with them, she thought as she picked up a branch and brandished it like a sword. She would not go down without a fight.

"Get them, but don't hurt them," Vorg shouted. "Dagur wants them alive."

It was embarrassingly simple for the men to disarm her and she kicked and screamed as they picked her up as if she weighed nothing. They were rougher with Ivor and they ultimately had to knock him out so that they could carry both of them back to camp. All the while, Merida cursed and yelled until the man holding her had enough and shook her like a ragdoll until she quieted down.

For a couple of minutes.

In those minutes, she tried to reach her needle and when she did, she stabbed the man carrying her. He yelled and dropped her and she tried to make a run for it but someone else grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back.

Vorg held her personally this time and there was no room left to struggle.

The walk back felt shorter than she remembered, although it still took a good couple hours to get back. Her stomach dropped as she saw the clearing up ahead. Men were running around and she could make out words. Most weren't good. Dagur's face confirmed her fears. Vorg dropped her in front of him, the heavy body of Ivor landing next to her and she stared defiantly up at Dagur, awaiting the punishment she knew was coming.

Dagur did not look happy. His eyes were narrowed, his lips were pressed together and he refused to look at her.

His eyes flickered over to Ivor and suddenly became almost bored. "Dogbert," he called. The man, who'd been standing a few feet behind him, stepped up. Dagur gave a half wave to the right. "Grab the foreigner and tie him to the pole."

Merida was confused and faintly protested as they dragged her companion off.

"Wake him up," Dagur commanded in annoyance when he noticed that Ivor was passed out. A bucket of water was flung at his face and Ivor gasped awake, shaking his head to get rid of the droplets crawling down his face.

"What in -," he said as his mind tried to reorient itself.

Merida watched Dagur's smile transform into something she'd never seen before. Malicious glee. "Bring out the whip."

And Merida understood. Ivor was going to be punished in her steed.

"Nae! It's ma fault. Leave him alone," she cried without thinking.

Everyone froze. They gave her open-eyed looks as she realized she'd said that in Norse. In her fear and worry, she'd forgotten to censure herself. Now her secret was out. Dagur had eyes only for her now and he marched over to her. Snatching her face, he said in a deep growl, "You understand us. All this time…" His face looked hurt and betrayed before it settled back into his sneer and he swung her face away from him. "You conniving wench. I should kill you." And for a moment, Merida could have sworn she saw something flicker across his eyes before he raised an eyebrow her way and said, "But instead, I have a more fun idea. Eskal!"

Merida saw the braided leather whip. She knew it would hurt. It would scar. She looked away, angry and helpless to do anything.

"On my go ahead."

Dagur dropped down to a knee and yanked at her hair. He leaned in to whisper in her ear, "I want you to watch every minute of his pain. I want you to know it was all your fault." Then he nodded towards his man. "Alright. You may proceed."

Ivor's screams would haunt her. She thanked God that he passed out twenty lashes in. At least he could find peace in his dreamless sleep.

Ivor received fifty lashes in total. By the time it was over, his back looked liked a bloody canvass. Skin hung from his back and she could see torn muscle. Her eyes had tears but she refused to let them fall. Dagur had laughed the whole time but now, he was eerily quiet.

He got to his feet, brushing the dirt off. His men waited for orders. After a moment, he looked up. "Leave him there. Let's see if he survives the night." Then he turned his attention towards Merida who was still lying on the ground, body curled into herself, hair falling over her red rimmed eyes.

She cried out in pain as he snatched her arm and started dragging her to his tent. No one said anything. Instead, they averted their eyes. Even when she spotted Milkweed and Butch and reached out to them for help, they just gave her pitying looks and walked away.

No.

"You stupid girl," Dagur hissed as he threw her on the floor causing her head to smash against a wooden chest. Dazed, she could barely coordinate herself enough to move away when Dagur sat on her, his legs on either side of her. She pulled her arm to punch him but he captured her wrists and pinned them above her head.

"I gave you everything you needed." He leaned in close, his mouth twisted into a scowl, his eyes an acidic green. "I was even _nice_ to you." With his free hand, he hiked her dress up, touching her undergarments.

"Stop," she cried but he ignored her.

"And you ran away. From _me_." He yanked them down and Merida kicked but it was no use. He had her in a helpless position. He explored her down there and watched as she flinched in pain as he handled her roughly. It brought a sickenly satisfied smile on his face.

"Ah, a virgin. Just as I suspected. Well," he said with a sad shake of his head, "you're not going to like this next part."

"You see," he said carefully as if she were a child, "_you_ need to be punished. I've been too…lenient with you. If I'd beaten this defiance out of you earlier, you would have never gotten any ideas." His hand left her and she cried in relief until she felt his fingers ghost over her covered breasts all the way up until she felt him grab her neck.

They locked eyes and Dagur's thumb pressed down on her throat. "You need to get it inside your little head. You belong to me. I own you." He pressed down on her body and she could feel him between her legs. It scared her like nothing before had.

In that instant, she saw her life: her mother, her father, her siblings. The castle she grew up in. Maudie running around after the triplets, stealing food from the kitchens, practicing sword play with her father, studying under the guidance of her mother, Angus, shooting arrows. All of it, slipping through her fingers and she wanted it back. So very badly.

"I'll kill ye," she whispered, watching him with her blurry vision as he positioned himself above her.

He laughed and reached down to unbuckle his pants, freeing his manhood. "Oh, I'd like to see you try, darling."

He teased her, feeling her tense beneath him.

"You're not going to like this but…it has to be done. Or else how are you going to learn your lesson? Don't worry," he added as he spread her legs wider, "It'll get better. Just lie back and think of," he chuckled darkly, "your kingdom. The one I burned down," and then he shoved himself forward.

The world went dark around the edges and Merida screamed.

**Reviews**

**StillAnonymous: Thank you so much. Hope this chapter was worth the wait (and that it wasn't too bad). Two chapters left before I slip in an Interlude and take a little break for school and stuff.**

**yellow rose: Well, I'm glad you like the story but I'm hoping you're not only reading it because you're expecting Hiccup will show up. Because I'm sorry to say you will be disappointed. He'll be mentioned here and there and he does exist. It's just this story isn't about him so there's no reason for him to be in it. Yet. Like I said, if I continue it past the point I've planned, he'll pop up. Until then, it's just a not-so-smooth ride with the Berserkers and Merida.**

**A/N: Next chapter's a Milkweed chapter **


	13. Part 1: Chapter 12

**A/N: I come baring gifts. A two chapter update. Because they're both really short.**

**Milkweed**

She didn't sleep that night. Not with the screams that still echoed in her head. Not with Butch's stream of swearing nearby. Not with the guilt eating at her as she remembered the way the princess had reached out to her.

In the morning, when she was called to attend to her, she had to swallow back a knot as she watched Dagur the Deranged adjust his clothes, a large satisfied smirk on his face, while the princess lay half conscious on the bedding. Her eyes were closed and there were tear tracks on her cheeks and she was motionless. Milkweed had to strain her eyes to see if she was breathing.

"Clean her up," Dagur said as he also looked down at her. After a pause he added, "Make sure you don't give her anything for the pain."

Milkweed had never wanted to kill him more than at that moment. It was like a light went off in her head. She'd never been like Butch, who took a stance and hated Dagur with every fiber in his being. She'd always been more neutral about his chiefdom. She did not condone how he'd gotten it, but she also didn't care enough to want to overthrow him. After all, it was thanks to him that she'd received reorganization in the Berserker forces. So she owed him her current position: from a regular warrior to being part of his armada. But this…this was monstrous.

Dagur beamed at her and patted her on the shoulder on his way out. "Good. Feed her too. I don't want her body to spoil."

Her mouth felt dry but she nodded and watched him leave the tent.

As soon as he was out of sight, looking like he was going to go hunting, Milkweed hurried over to the princess's side and hovered over her, not sure whether to touch her yet. Carefully, she pulled back strands of hair from her face and gasped at the bruising around her neck.

"No," she moaned and weakly tried to fend her off.

"Shhh," Milkweed said, trying to give off a calm and soothing aura. She had never been good with children. She'd always thought she'd fail at motherhood. It was why she'd pushed herself to become a shieldmaiden. But seeing the way this strong and forceful girl was reduced to such a weak and fragile state, well, it broke her heart.

"Everything's okay now," she said and gently ran her hand through her hair. It was poor comfort because everything was not okay. It would never be okay.

It was like a dam broke because she started crying. Full, loud sobs that wracked her body. She tried to curl into herself but the pain kept her still, so she just laid there on her back, covering her face with her fingers as the tears streamed down her face. And Milkweed sat there, running her fingers through her hair and offering her whatever comfort she could give. It would obviously never be enough.

"_Màthair_," she cried. And she repeated the word over and over.

_Màthair_

_Màthair_

_Màthair_

It wasn't hard to figure out who she was calling for.

**Reviews**

**yellow rose: I'm very glad I've made you excited. The road to freedom is going to be hell for Merida. I hope you stick around till then.**

**StillAnonymous: Well, even if she'd shouted in her native tongue it wouldn't have changed anything. Dagur might have not been as malicious but that's beside the point. The reason I made her yell out in Norse is because she wanted for them to stop; unfortunately, her mouth ran off before reason could stop it so then you have this whole mess.**


	14. Part 1: Chapter 13

**Dagur**

Dagur took in a deep full breath of the morning air, held it, and then let it go. There was a giant smile plastered on his face. Today was a good day. With his hunting party, he'd managed to kill an Elk, a fox, and Captain Vorg had managed to capture two hares. All in all, he would be eating well tonight.

"Drinks for everyone!" he yelled as he came back to camp dragging the large Elk behind him. There were cheers and Dagur grinned. Glancing up at the sky, he saw that it was nearing dusk. One of the cooks came up and he shoved the animal in his arms.

"Make sure to keep it a bit bloody," he said and wandered off through his camp. For a moment, he thought about checking in on his woman but decided he'd give her a bit more time to build up her sense of dread. Instead, his feet took him to the pole where the foreigner was still tied up.

He titled his head, contemplating the man. Well, he wasn't dead yet and if he hadn't died these last couple of hours than he wasn't going to die any time soon. This one was strong and stubborn. It reminded him of his princess. Perhaps all heathens of the green lands were like this. It was a quality he could admire even if at the same time it annoyed him.

He fiddled with his axe and thought about chopping his head off. One problem solved in a matter of seconds but then he recalled the way his princess had reacted at the sight of this man in danger. If nothing else, he would be a useful tool to use against her if she tried to fight against him again. Threaten to kill the last connection she had to her homeland, and Dagur was sure she'd settle down faster than he could say Hiccup.

Hum. "Someone," he called. "Get me Grimmer or whatever the name is of the man I gave command over the foreigner."

"Here I am sir. And its Grimm," a voice said behind him and Dagur reacted on instinct. His arm slammed against a face and he blinked in confusion when he saw the stout man rolling around the ground in pain.

Dagur rolled his eyes and kicked him on the leg. "Get up you pathetic excuse for a warrior." When he didn't get up fast enough, Dagur bent down and pulled him up by the collar of his shirt. "How many times have I told you that I don't like being snuck up on?"

"Sorry sir," he gasped as the collar chocked him.

Dagur snorted and shoved him towards the foreigner. "Clean him up and feed him. Take him to get medical attention or something. I decided I don't want him to die."

Grimm nodded and stumbled over to untie the man. The foreigner was half conscious and delirious when he was dragged away.

Having settled that, Dagur went back to his men who were telling stories and singing. He joined in even though compared to most Vikings, he had a horrible voice. No one said anything because most liked keeping their tongues connected to their mouths.

The Elk was served a couple hours later when most of the men were good and drunk. A warm flush had worked its way up to his cheeks although he wasn't inebriated. It took a lot to get him drunk and Dagur refused to do something so stupid amongst his men. Instead he sat back and enjoyed the show of stupidity presented in front of him. A brawl started sometime during their merrymaking and Dagur laughed as the looser lost a finger.

It was long past midnight when he made his way back to his tent. As instructed, Milkweed had left some lights on and in the dimness of his tent he could make out the faint outline of _Merida_ lying asleep on the beddings. Her silhouette looked delicious.

Not even trying to be quiet, he peeled away his clothing and crawled into bed with her. She startled awake when she felt his hand working her dress up. Ah, bare; for easy access. He loved, _loved_ when his orders were followed to the T. He watched with amusement as Merida tried to push him away; he barked out a laugh when he saw her little hand form a fist and punch him. He batted her feeble attempts with his own and bent down to give her a smooch on the forehead.

"Lovely," he said when he spotted her tears and he got ready.

He savored the pained whimper that came out of her mouth when he entered her and watched with rapt fascination as she jerked with each thrust. She was biting her lip until it bled, trying to keep from screaming. Luckily, it didn't stop her from making small squeaking noises every time he sheathed himself fully inside her.

It was like music to his ears and he grunted in tune with her.

He worked himself into a state of ecstasy and spilled inside her. He didn't bother moving away. Satiated and content, he just let himself collapse on top of her, the giant smile back on his face. He inhaled her smell and closed his eyes, savoring the connection that he forced in her, even as she faintly tried to get him out.

He just squeezed her waist until she gasped for breath and stilled.

"Good girl," he purred and kissed her on the lips. Even in pain and under his control, she still bit him. It was a delicious pain and Dagur had to only squeeze her again in order for her to let go.

He grinned as he licked his bleeding lips and pulled her shivering body closer to his. It was warm and soft and like everything he'd imagined it to be.

He could get used to this.

**A/N: Next will be an Interlude.**


	15. Interlude

**Interlude**

The morning after the attack and the mood was somber. When the castle had been breached, many had scrambled down to the cellars where the servants guided the citizens through a secret passage way outside to the barn. Many had escaped, Elinor having been one of them. When the storm had settled and the sunlight had breeched the clouds, they had all waited breathlessly for the sound of fighting.

But it was silent.

The braver ones ventured out and came back with news of the battle being over. But that many of their own men had fallen and a great majority of them were injured. Elinor had run out in search of Fergus.

She'd found him in the middle of the courtyard, aiding his men despite the fact that he was bleeding heavily.

"Take him to the healers," Elinor had commanded and had hushed away her husband's protests. She'd looked off into the forests, wondering about her children but wanting to make sure Fergus was out of harms way. So here she was, awaiting news about his state of health.

"How is he?" Elinor asked as soon as one of the healers emerged from the makeshift tent. She twisted and pulled at her fingers as she waited for his answer.

The healer wiped sweat from his brow and sighed. "He received heavy burns all along his back but he should make a full recovery."

"Oh thank heavens." She ran a hand through her hair, most of which had been singed off from the tips. Her eyes darted across to the makeshift camp, the ruins of the castle just in the distance still smoking a bit as it died down. People were mourning and crying. Many were heavily burned or injured. She looked back at the healer who had been watching her intently.

"You're going to look for the young princess and princes, aren't you?"

"I'll be back soon," she reassured. She rested a hand on his shoulders. "Please. Look after Fergus. Let nothing happen to him."

"I'll do everything I can my Lady Queen."

She nodded her gratitude and immediately called for a horse. The people watched in alarm as she mounted but she reassured them that everything was fine.

"Let me go with you," Martin said. He was a castle guard but one of the few still mobile. "Something might happen to you."

"I'll be fine." She didn't want to voice the dreadful thought of 'what if her children were not there?' She didn't want anyone to see her sorrow.

Most seemed to understand, if only a little bit. Martin nodded and called out, "Someone, give her a sword."

They fitted her with a light one and she adjusted it so it wouldn't get in the way of her riding.

"Be safe," her people called as she steered towards the gates. As soon as her horse hit the bridge, she was off. It took thirty minutes at hard gallop to reach the stone circle. She didn't wait for a complete stop and stumbled rather ungracefully to her feet as she looked around frantically.

"Merida! Boys!" Her heart hammered against her chest and tears started to pool in her eyes as she swept the area and saw nothing but trees and mist.

"It's me. Your mum. Please." Nothing. Her hands moved to her heart and held them together as if in prayer before her fingers curled inward. She fell to her knees.

"My babes," she whispered and covered half her face as she let the sobs wrack her body.

This couldn't be happening. This wasn't real.

"Mummy!"

Her head snapped upwards and she looked around until she spotted three familiar red-heads running at feel speed towards her followed closely by a buxom woman. It only took her a split second to realize that someone was missing but then she was tackled and her young sons were crawling all over her, hugging her and kissing her as they cried her name over and over.

"Hamish," she said, kissing him on the head. "Hubert," she said as she squeezed him in a hug. "Harris," she said as she cupped his small chin in her hand. She drew them closer to her body. "My boys."

After a minute of this, she lifted her head to look at Maudie. "Thank you."

She was wiping tears from her face.

Elinor looked behind her and then turned her head but…she couldn't see Merida.

"She's gone," Maudie whispered.

Her breath caught in her throat. "What?"

"The Vikings. They took her. Her and Ivor." Maudie burst into tears. "They were going to capture all of us but they stayed behind to give us time to run and hide. Oh, I'm sorry my Lady Queen. So sorry. I shouldn't have – I could have – d-d-don't know what – everything happened so fast."

But Elinor could only think on the fact that Merida was gone. Taken by Viking savages. Heathens. Blood thirty and merciless. Monsters. She lowered her head and she felt her children petting it, trying to sooth her as they cried with her.

They made their way back, silent and numb. Her people greeted her but immediately noticed her mood. They looked behind her and saw Maudie and the young princes. But no Merida. They immediately pieced together what was wrong and a mournful wail broke out across the camp.

"Our princess," they moaned.

It was enough to wake King Fergus up and struggle to his feet, despite the protests of the healers hovering around him. He stepped out and took one look at his wife and children and he knew.

"Merida," he chocked out and fell to his knees. Everyone immediately rushed over to him but he roared at them to get away. Only Elinor was allowed near him and he hugged her as if she was the last thing in the world. He scoped up the boys who had made their way behind their mother and they cried, one wretched family, piled together seemingly melting into each other.

News of the attack had spread fast and a month later, Dingwall arrived with his fleet. A day later McGuffin landed on their shores followed by Macintosh. The lords had made their way to the heart of the camp with heavy hearts and grim expressions, their sons not too far behind.

Ever since he'd found out about Merida, King Fergus had refused to sit back and let himself heal. He'd thrown himself into planning how to defend themselves incase the Vikings came back. And maybe, even get information about his daughter from them. He refused to believe that she was dead.

Queen Elinor both supported his efforts and quietly mourned her daughter as she simultaneously took charge in distributing food, water, and clothing to the people as well as watching over the triplets who had refused to let her out of their sight, and tagged along behind her as if woven to her dress.

The lords greeted their King. He, who was usually loud and boisterous, sat silent and solemn, his few surviving men forming a protective circle around him, looking as grim and as melancholy as the land.

The lords traded looks and McGuffin was the first to speak.

"We're truly sorry for your loss."

Fergus slammed his hand against the table but then straightened himself and ran a tired hand across his face. "Aye, well," his face hardened. "I'll get her back." He looked up at them sharply. "Are ye here ta help?"

"Of course!" Dingwall said, puffing up. He waved a hand behind him in the direction of his warriors. "If they dare ta show their faces again, we'll cut them ta pieces."

"From limb ta limb."

"No man left standing."

Fergus nodded. "Good."

"But," McGuffin said slowly, "wouldnae be best that ye go and recover somewhere…safer?"

"My people need me here," he said. His voice left no room for arguing.

"But what about the Lady Queen and the princes?" Macintosh tried. He shifted nervously as he said, "After all, the princes are the next in line to succession and if something were to happen -,"

"Enough!" he spat. "They will stay here with me." He reigned in his rage. "Is that all?"

They nodded gravely but even as they left the tent, they had not given up.

They were greeted by the Lady Queen next and although she appeared fine, they knew she was not and they approached her accordingly. She invited them to dine with her and they accepted. King Fergus was no where in sight and she explained that he was too busy to get away from work. They accepted her excuse.

They ate in silence.

It was as they were moving to their dessert, that McGuffin tried to bring up moving them to a safer place. The Queen had always been more reasonable than her husband and if they could win her over to their side, she would most definitely convince the King.

"I offer my hospitality for as long as ye need," he added.

When neither received a response from her he opened his mouth only for her voice to cut him off mid word. "I thank you Lord McGuffin but we are fine where we are." She took a sip from her cup of wine and proceeded to change the subject.

It took two weeks plus five days for the lords to convince the king and queen that it would be best if they were relocated to safer grounds. They promised to leave a fleet of men to guard the remains of Dunbroch as well as the people who would be left behind to rebuild. The Queen gave way first and once they had her, the King followed.

On the day of their departure, the people crowded near them to touch and bless them. They were wished a safe journey. McGuffin stayed behind, along with the rest of the lords, but he assigned his son the task of guiding and securing the safe passage of the King and Queen.

After the parting, the lords kept themselves busy building defenses and fortifying the castle walls.

A month later, they received word by way of bird that the King and Queen had arrived safely in castle McGuffin and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Attached to the note, was an inquiry by King Fergus on whether they had heard any news on his daughter.

No one would voice what they were all thinking…that holding out hope that the princess was alive was a fruitless effort and as much as it pained them, their time and energy needed to be spent on protecting the people that lived and breathed.

There were hard and sad times ahead.

**Reviews**

**StillAnonymous: You wondered a couple chapters back what was going one with Merida's family. Well, here's the chapter. I know it's rather somber but you have to keep in mind that they have no idea who took their daughter except for the general term 'vikings.' They don't know where they're from, etc. It would be a bad idea for Fergus to go off looking for one person when he has a kingdom to look after.  
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**yellow rose: I know right? I find myself both hating and liking Dagur, just because he's such a horrible person but he doesn't see himself that way. He's a complicated little piggie. And you have it absolutely right. It'll be hard for Merida to trust any man after this. But she's strong and she'll pull through. Eventually. Hopefully. **

**A/N: Like I've mentioned before, this will be the last chapter for a couple of weeks. I want to focus on school, get ahead on writing. My goal is to finish this story before How To Train Your Dragon 2 comes out. I'm so excited for that. I can't wait. I'd love to hear any comments and I hope to get back into the grove of writing again (I've been lagging which is why I need the break). On another note, part two will be taking place in Berserker island so you'll get to meet some characters that have only been mentioned. Others will have bigger parts to play. Part two will probably be Merida's darkest time. Hope you guys are still around when I start updating again. **

**See ya later**


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